


The Impossibility of Parallels

by Angel_of_Mysteries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, M/M, Tomarry Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_of_Mysteries/pseuds/Angel_of_Mysteries
Summary: Harry Potter by day, Hadrian Peverell at night. Two sides of the same coin; one a Gryffindor destined to defeat the darkest wizard of all time, and the other a Slytherin trying to prevent the future at any cost.It's impossible to live in two times at once, though, and bad things happen to wizards that meddle with the past.As Harry's sixth year in school draws to a close and the lines between both worlds blur, Harry realizes that sooner or later he'll have to choose between the life he's always known and one he shouldn't want to live.Before it's too late.





	1. In a Way You'd Never Dream

"Thank you for coming tonight, Harry." Dumbledore's greeting was accompanied by a sincere smile, but it didn't hide the grave tone behind the headmaster's words.

"It's no problem," Harry returned casually. No matter how nonchalant he tried to sound though, he knew that Dumbledore wouldn't miss the way his shoulders tensed. "Is something wrong? Your note said that this wasn't for a lesson…"

Dumbledore shook his head, his smile widening slightly. "Nothing's wrong at all, my dear boy! In fact, I believe you'll quite like the reason I've brought you here tonight."

Harry's heartbeat quickened as he pulled a chair - _his_ chair, as he liked to think of it - up to the other side of the headmaster's desk and sat down. "Did you find another one, Sir?" he asked excitedly, lowering his tone after a quick glance around the room. Dumbledore had told him at the beginning of the year that the portraits wouldn't break the secrecy of their meetings, but he refused to trust them. "Another horcrux?"

Another shake of the head. "I called you here tonight, Harry, for a rescue mission of sorts," Dumbledore hummed, opening one of his desk drawers and pulling out a golden necklace.

"A time turner!" Harry gasped, recognizing it. He leaned closer to the desk, narrowing his eyes at the artifact. "But how did you get this, Sir? I thought they were all-"

"Destroyed? Yes, they were," Dumbledore confirmed cheerfully, setting the time turner down in front of Harry, who resisted the urge to grab it. "This isn't a time turner like any other, Harry. A dear friend of mine crafted it after much persuasion, and I'd like to entrust it to you for your mission."

"You said it was a rescue mission?" Harry asked quickly, his heart beating faster as hope swelled inside of him and his vision blurred slightly. "Sir, does this mean- am I going to save Sirius?"

"I am sorry, Harry, but no," Dumbledore answered gently. "This mission is of far more importance, and I believe that it will aid us greatly in our goal to take down Lord Voldemort."

Harry swallowed thickly, banishing the bitterness that rose up and settled throughout him in a gloom. "Of course," he murmured, tearing his gaze away from Dumbledore's.

He should have known that this gift would be for the central mission. When he'd first seen it though, he'd dared to think that for _just a moment,_ Dumbledore was giving him what he really wanted, that things had _changed_ after that disastrous confrontation before the end of school last June.

"So who are we going to rescue?" Harry questioned, picking up the time turner and studying it carefully.

"Not _we,_ my dear boy. I'm afraid that this is a journey you will have to make on your own."

Harry's breath caught in his throat at that, and he looked up at the headmaster with wide eyes. "Sir…?" he asked weakly, finally reaching out and picking up the time turner. "What do you… why- why me?"

"You are one of the few that have the nobility to only use it for the right reasons," Dumbledore told him, meeting Harry's gaze with twinkling blue eyes. "And one of the few that know Lord Voldemort the greatest. Alas, it would be too dangerous to send anyone else."

"Oh," Harry muttered, looking back down at the time tuner. Now that he was really examining it, he realized that it _was_ different. Instead of the traditional hourglass in the center, this one was charmed so that sand trickled down into both sides from the narrow middle. Neither side ever got any fuller though, and the sand never stopped. Peering closer at the words inscribed on the circle that held the hourglass, four numbers jumped out at him.

_1943._

"Who am I rescuing?" Harry finally reiterated, looking back up at Dumbledore. A couple of names came to mind of people that had died that year, but he wondered if perhaps Dumbledore's answer wasn't going to be more ambiguous. He had a habit of doing that, after all.

"In a sense, you'll be rescuing Tom Riddle himself," Dumbledore mused, pushing back his chair and moving to look out one of the windows, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

 _"What?"_ Harry gasped quietly, abruptly setting the time turner back down on the desk. Save Tom Riddle? From what, his own self-destructive actions? The future?

That had to be it, Harry decided shakily. Dumbledore wanted him to travel back to before Tom ever became Voldemort, and… and do what?

Kill him?

Bile rose up in Harry's throat at the mere thought. He supposed he should have known that something like this would happen. He'd been told that he would eventually have to kill Voldemort, that the prophecy stated that they were _destined,_ but that didn’t make it right.

He couldn't do it. He _wouldn't._

His gasp must have given what he was thinking away, because Dumbledore was reassuring him in the next moment. "No no, my dear boy, nothing like that. You see, the very existence of this device changes everything," he told Harry. "I do want you to go back, yes, but not to murder Tom Riddle. It is not like you," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"You want me to stop him from making Horcruxes, then," Harry guessed, wetting his lips nervously. "How?"

For what felt like several minutes, the office was silent. Harry stayed seated in his chair, thinking over the mission he'd been abruptly assigned and Dumbledore…

Dumbledore looked out the window, until finally he turned to face him once more, his expression more determined than Harry had ever seen it before. "Do you know what is so fascinating about time travel, Harry?" he asked quietly.

The question was rhetorical, Harry knew; but he shook his head anyway, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He really wanted an answer as to how exactly Dumbledore wanted him to 'save' Tom Riddle, but it would come in time. Even if he didn't immediately know it.

"It forces you to make a choice," Dumbledore went on. "Either here, or there. There is no in-between, you cannot be in two places at once. Until now."

"Sir?" Harry asked, sitting up straighter. Did he mean-?

"That is no ordinary time turner," he reiterated. "If we are even to call it that. You have already observed that which makes it different. The sand in the middle feeds into both times, much like you will."

Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You can't mean… live in two times at once?"

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed with a nod. "You will live in 1943, and simultaneously, you will stay here."

"How?" Harry asked immediately, glancing back down at the time turner. "I don't… will it just happen when I put it on?"

"No. It's very simple in explanation, but complex magic in practice. When you put the time turner on, the very essence of its magic will fuse with your brain to synchronize its switches with your sleep cycles. When you go to sleep tonight, the turner will activate and take you back fifty-four years to tonight's date."

"So I don't have to worry about just suddenly collapsing or anything," Harry summed up, sighing in relief. "Okay then, that… sounds easy enough to understand. How will I get back, though? If it waits until I go to sleep in the past… that means I'll be asleep for several hours."

"It does," Dumbledore said with a nod. "However, your class schedule coincides perfectly with acceptable times to wake up and go to sleep. Severus has already been warned that you will likely be late to his classes on Friday mornings. I believe traveling into the past should not disrupt your class work at all. As for getting back, the time turner will know to make the switch when you fall asleep in the past."

"Alright," Harry murmured, nodding. "It sounds simple enough. Can I tell Ron and Hermione about it?"

For the first time that night, Dumbledore hesitated. "I do not think that the best idea," he said slowly. "While they are both very loyal and intelligent, I do not believe they would understand this. Ms. Granger will probably be inclined to help you with your classwork should you need it, regardless of whether or not she knows of this."

Harry sighed in disappointment, though he nodded. He could see the sense in what Dumbledore was saying, and the fewer people that knew about the mission, the better. "Can I take anything with me?" he asked, thinking of the invisibility cloak and map.

To his dismay, though, Dumbledore shook his head. “Unfortunately not, my dear boy. You will only be able to take yourself and the time turner.”

“What about possessions, school things?” Harry asked, his mind racing. How was he going to possibly live in the past if he didn’t have any of his things with him? He wouldn’t have any money, or extra clothes either.

“You do have a valid point, there,” Dumbledore mused. “To my knowledge, it will only carry yourself and the turner, but perhaps if you create duplicates of your possessions, and shrink down the trunk to fit in your pocket…?”

Harry nodded. “I’ll try that,” he murmured. He couldn’t fathom not having his father’s cloak, or the map. And once he thought about it, the Prince’s potions book.

“Is that all? Do you understand everything now?”

Harry glanced down at the time turner for a moment, then looked back up. “Not quite,” he replied. “When I go back to the past, where will I end up?”

“I can imagine that you’ll wake up exactly where you fall asleep,” Dumbledore replied thoughtfully. “So I would recommend somewhere unused, not too far from here. At least for the first day. Then, we can see how it works on your way back.”

Harry nodded, and after a moment, he asked the final question that he still hadn’t quite figured out. “What, exactly, is it that you want me to do though? That part’s a little unclear.”

“Stop Tom Riddle from becoming the person he is today,” Dumbledore answered simply. “Whatever it takes.”

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Harry gave one final nod as he stood. “Alright then,” he murmured, sounding more confident than he felt. Prevent Voldemort from ever taking power? He’d have an easier time beating him in _this_ time, horcruxes destroyed or not! If there was one thing Harry had learned so far from seeing Tom Riddle through memory, it was that he was set on his path and wouldn’t be swayed easily, if even at all.

“One more thing!” Dumbledore called out behind him just as he reached the door.

Harry turned back to face him, an eyebrow lifting curiously. “Yes, Professor?”

"Have you given any thought as to the story you'll be giving Headmaster Dippet to explain your sudden presence?" Dumbledore questioned. "I'm only asking, my dear boy, because it would be most unwise to tell him anything close to the truth, even your name. It could have unforeseen consequences on the present."

"So you're suggesting that I come up with an alias?" Harry guessed, "okay. That's doable. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Transfer students are a rarity for Hogwarts," Dumbledore mused in answer, "but not unheard of. Though, you'll be unable to procure any documents of prior schooling, so I suggest perhaps using the excuse of homeschooling. Why you must transfer is up to you, as is the name you'll go by. A look in ancestry books, though, might help you out."

“Thank you for the advice,” Harry murmured, despite the confusion at Dumbledore’s suggestion. What did ancestry books possibly have to do with him creating a feasible alias for the past?

 _It must be so I can figure out what families existed back then,_ he rationalized as he gently shut the door behind him on his way out. _So that I don’t accidentally relate myself to anyone and cause trouble. Not to mention, accidentally go by the surname ‘Potter’ and get found out before I’ve even begun._

Harry’s first thought was to actually follow Dumbledore’s advice and try hitting up the library, but a quick glance at a nearby clock deterred him. He must have been in Dumbledore’s office for longer than he’d thought, because well over an hour had passed, and there was barely another thirty minutes before the library would close.

 _I’ll head to the dorms then,_ he decided resolutely. _And see if Hermione might have any ideas._ He didn’t make it halfway to the Gryffindor towers though, before another thought surfaced, stopping him in his tracks.

 _That wouldn’t work either._ Harry sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. _Hermione would want to know why I need the information, and Dumbledore told me that I can’t tell her anything. Question is, what do I do now?_

Harry stood in the middle of the corridor for a good few minutes, pondering his choices. He could easily break Dumbledore’s word, of course, and have all the information he’d need and a solid _plan_ before just jumping into the past, but this mission was far too important to risk any information about it getting out - even to his two best mates.

In the end, he finally decided to just retreat to the dorms and get his things ready and shrunk, and then slip out under his invisibility cloak to find a place to rest for the night. And depending on whether or not it was being used, Harry knew just the place to go, too.

Luckily enough for Harry, the common room wasn’t very busy when he stepped inside the portrait hole. There were some fifth and seventh years scattered about at tables and armchairs and a few in front of the fire, all of them studying for their respective OWLs and NEWTs. None of them paid him any mind, and he was perfectly okay with that. A bit disappointed, though, that none of his friends were anywhere to be found either.

 _And isn’t that quite odd?_ Harry mused as he walked up the steps to his dorm room. It was a Friday night, surely that would mean that everyone would be up late, cheerfully causing a small ruckus in the common room over chess and pranks, instead of the silence he’d been met with.

He snorted quietly. If Hermione had had any say, the fifth and seventh years were likely the exact reason for the odd tranquility downstairs. It was second term, after all, and that meant that the tests were barely a few months off.

Harry crept into the dorm room quietly, mindful of the snores that already filled the room, most notably from Ron’s bed. The others were mindful to use silencing charms most of the time, but his redheaded friend usually forgot or he just didn’t care.

After drawing his curtains around his bed, Harry cast a whispered _Muffliato,_ and then a _Lumos._ If any of the others were awake, let them think of it what they would.

Harry opened his trunk, then took a good moment to gaze at the contents within. What did he really want to take to the past with him, besides the Prince’s potions book? Would his other textbooks be useless at that point, or too recent for that time period?

His quidditch uniform definitely was out, he realized, taking it out and setting it on the floor. And most likely, his clothes would have to be transfigured to match the fashion of the forties.

Another realization struck, flooring him.

He had no knowledge of the past, whatsoever. And for a mission as important as his, that was practically a death sentence.

What _had_ the fashion been like, back then? From what he’d seen so far of the memories Dumbledore had shown him, the clothing style hadn’t changed _too_ much, although he’d never be able to take his jeans with him.

But what of the other important things? Mannerisms, and sayings? How much had those changed in the past some fifty odd years? Did people say _bloody hell_ like Ron liked to so often, or did they have another saying altogether? And even though he knew just a little bit of wizarding history, he didn’t really know much about the wizarding culture or politics or important events from that time, other than the fact that Riddle had been well on his way to becoming Voldemort and Grindelwald had been in power.

 _Merlin,_ maybe he ought to rethink that trip to the library!

 _Or maybe the Room of Requirement will have everything I need, if I ask it for supplies,_ Harry thought as he sorted through his school books, both current and old. _Clothes, and such, so maybe I won’t have to duplicate very much after all._

Harry nodded once, satisfied with his observation, as bleak as it might have been. The Room of Requirement was known for producing _anything_ a person needed, so who was to say that it excluded convenient wardrobes of clothing from the forties and books filled with information on the time period? Books that he could most likely take out of the room, and into the past with him? (Granted, that everything worked the way it needed to.)

With a sigh of relief, Harry continued sorting through his few possessions with a new fervor. At least one of his Weasley Christmas sweaters would be going for sure, and so would the map and invisibility cloak.

Pausing for a moment, Harry frowned.

He… he _could_ take the cloak with him, right? It probably couldn’t be copied because _surely_ someone else had tried that in the past, but what about the original? Was it entirely impossible for there to be _two_ of the same invisibility cloak in existence at the same time?

Ron had always told him that his was unique after all, that normal invisibility cloaks didn’t last any longer than a few years before the charms wore off. And his…

Well. His had once been his father’s. And if _that_ wasn’t a testament to his cloak’s age and apparent uniqueness, Harry wasn’t sure what would be.  

It was worth a shot, he decided, folding it over his arm a couple of times before setting it off to the side with the Prince’s book and the Marauder's Map. As Harry slowly rifled through the rest of his things, he pondered what else to take. The normal school supplies, like his inkwell and quills, and parchment, would be joining him. His school books would stay behind. In the worst case scenario, the Dumbledore from that time would just accompany him to Diagon Alley to pick up the rest of his supplies.

…..But wait. Dumbledore hadn’t _been_ headmaster in that time, Dippet had.

Harry shook his head, blinking a few times. “Merlin, this is going to take some getting used to,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Perhaps it would be a better idea to just postpone going to the past for a night, take some time to study first?

But _no,_ Harry thought, steeling his resolve. Dumbledore would most likely want to visit with him the next day, to see if it worked and if he’d gone back in time successfully. And as much as he wished he’d had more notice so he could study, Harry didn’t want to disappoint him.

Once his trunk was emptied and separated into two separated piles - things that would go and things that would remain, Harry cast the spell to duplicate his trunk, grinning when it worked. A few of the items in the _going_ pile remained unduplicated (like the Cloak and Map) and were automatically set into the trunk. Others, like the Prince’s book, were quickly duplicated and then joined the rest of the stuff in the second trunk.

By the time Harry was ready to set off, another hour had gone and passed, and it was nearing curfew time for the older students, himself included. Harry shrunk the trunk he’d be taking with him and slipped it into his robe pocket, then drew the invisibility cloak over himself and slowly made his way out of Gryffindor tower.

The halls were deserted, making the trip to the Room of Requirement a more peaceful one than Harry had been expecting. Despite the fact that curfew had already struck by then, each House had its rule-breakers and it wasn’t uncommon for students to be up and about at this time of night.

 _I need a room with clothing and information from the forties,_ was the way Harry decided to word his thoughts when he was finally pacing in front of the Room. He had no idea if it would work the way he wanted to, but for ease and the mission’s sake, he hoped that the magic of the room was nice enough to at least grant him this. To his relief, an ancient looking door appeared at the third pace.

Magic truly _was_ amazing, Harry marveled as he opened the door and slowly stepped inside. The room was designed to look like one of those department stores Aunt Petunia had always taken Dudley to, with clothing racks strategically placed around. Here and there, a mannequin sported a ‘look’ that was complete with plainclothes, robes, and even shoes placed neatly at the feet. Grinning, Harry took his trunk out of his robe pocket and set it down on the floor, then tapped his wand on the top to unshrink it.

“Now to actually find something that I’ll _want_ to wear,” Harry murmured, wandering further into the room. The clothes didn’t exactly look _new,_ but they all certainly looked nicer than anything Harry had ever owned before in his life, except perhaps his school robes.

He spent a good half an hour looking through all the options the Room presented him with, choosing comfortable looking jumpers and a few button up shirts for more formal occasions, a dozen different pairs of black trousers (to keep it simple), and a few different sets of complete wizarding robes, he supposed, to be worn when he wasn’t at school.

Whatever. He likely wouldn’t be in the past long, so it didn’t matter if he never wore them. Most of the clothing looked like something only a stuck-up prat like Malfoy would dress in anyway.

…..On a second thought, it might do him better to keep the clothing. Provided that the Room actually let him _keep_ it all, it would be _his,_ and that was way better than anything the Dursleys had ever passed down to him.

Once he was fully satisfied with his selection, Harry closed up his trunk and kept one hand around the handle of it as he asked the room to change. He didn’t _think_ that the Room would take his trunk away when it shifted, but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to take that risk.

 _I need any literature I can get on what wizarding life was like in the forties,_ Harry thought, closing his eyes. _Mannerisms, sayings, culture...everything._

When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find himself in a much smaller room that held himself, a table and chair, and a single bookcase against the wall. The shelf wasn’t anywhere near full, housing only about fifteen to twenty books, some of them small and some of them thick. Harry took them all.

It was only once he’d double checked and made sure he had everything that he finally tucked the shrunken trunk away again and took a seat at the chair, pondering what he was going to do next.

Dumbledore had cautioned him that he was most likely to wake up exactly where he fell asleep, so he had to be smart about this. If he decided to hole up in a classroom, he ran the risk of not only Filch finding him, but also that it was a used classroom back then. The common room was out of question for obvious reasons, any of them. Dumbledore’s office itself…..also out of question. There was too great a risk that Dippet would be in there when he phased into existence.

Straightening in his seat, Harry curiously looked around the room. The Room of Requirement was definitely an option, granted that it would copy over into the past too, when he did. It was close enough to the headmaster’s office that it would only take him a few minutes to get there once he woke up, and the room was unplottable, so far as he knew. He couldn’t be found.

It was perfect, he decided, standing and closing his eyes once more. He imagined nothing more than a plain bedroom much like what he had at the Dursleys, except with the bed maybe being a little comfortable.

The Room readily complied. Along with a singular full-sized bed decked in Gryffindor colors, it provided a nightstand and lantern, and a desk nearby for studying or doing homework. While it wasn’t much, it was cozy enough to spend a decent amount of time in- which, Harry was beginning to suspect that he would.

He cast a quick _tempus_ and was surprised to find that it was already past two in the morning, and somewhere along the way, he’d lost another couple of hours. And in all the excitement of his mission to the past, he hadn’t had enough thought to his state of being.

Pleasantly enough, while he wasn’t quite as wide awake as he’d been back in his room, he wasn’t exhausted by a long shot. Rather, he was tired enough that falling asleep would be easy enough to do once he made himself comfortable.

Donning a fresh pair of trousers, a comfortable sweater, and a plain black robe to wear over it, Harry slipped into the bed after checking to make sure everything was secure and where it should be.

Heart beating rapidly in anticipation, he closed his eyes.

Almost immediately, he felt a sharp _pull_ almost like the sensation of a portkey, and then the darkness behind his eyelids swirled into sudden color. Browns and yellows and creams exploded in a kaleidoscopic mosaic, shifting with the churning in Harry’s stomach until it finally settled.

When he was steady enough to open his eyes, it was to find that he was standing in the middle of a deserted, sunlit corridor of Hogwarts, somewhere along the seventh floor if he wasn’t mistaken.

Harry took a deep breath and released it slowly, hardly daring to believe that any of it was real. _Surely_ Voldemort was just using their shared mental connection to mess with him, right?

But no. A hand made its way down to his pocket, and deftly latched onto the shrunken trunk within.

It had worked.

Harry relaxed, straightening his posture and looking around the hall in interest.

Hogwarts really _hadn’t_ changed all that much within the past fifty-four years. Looking out of one of the windows, he could see the grounds (astonishingly snowless, unlike in his time) and was mildly surprised to find that the Whomping Willow was nowhere to be found. The sun shone brightly, illuminating the corridor and creating a peaceful atmosphere.

In the next moment, it shattered.

_“Hey! You there!”_


	2. In the Last Place You'd Expect

Harry started and turned at the sound of an unfamiliar feminine voice ringing through the corridor. A rather tall witch with stringy brown hair was striding quickly toward him, wand in hand and pointed straight at him. Alarmed, he quickly took a step back and drew out his own wand, though he kept it pointed more toward the ground to show that he didn’t mean any harm.

“Who are you?” the witch asked sharply as she approached. Her wand was still pointed at him in the threat that he’d better answer or suffer the consequences for it, and based on the stories Filch had always muttered in the present - future? - Harry wasn’t so certain he wanted to find out.

When he didn’t immediately respond, the witch repeated herself. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Er-” he shifted uneasily, thinking fast. Dumbledore’s instruction to have a backstory prepared suddenly made so much more sense, and Harry sorely wished he had taken the extra time to figure one out.

“I’m here to see the headmaster,” he said finally, deciding on a version of the truth. As he spoke, he made sure to meet the witch’s distrustful gaze despite the fact that her wand had yet to move from between his eyes. She would be far more likely to believe him that way, even though he ran the small (practically nonexistent, if he was being perfectly honest with himself) risk that she was a Legilimens.

“Rubbish!” she snapped lowly, prodding his cheek indignantly with her wand. “Thought you could take me by surprise, did you? Thought you could get away with sneaking in, hmm? It’ll be straight to the dungeons with you, boy!”

Before Harry could even think to protest, she’d disarmed him and taken hold of his right hand with a surprising amount of strength, then finally moved her wand to tap against it. A heavy iron manacle appeared and secured itself around his wrist, a heavy chain extending outward to link to his other hand, then shortening greatly.

Effectively, he’d been taken prisoner in the span of about half a minute, he realized in dismay as the witch barked at him to start moving, ‘or else’.

“Ma’am, I think there’s been some kind of-”

“Silence,” the witch hissed.

“But really-”

_“Silence!”_

Together they walked toward the dungeons on the opposite side of the school where Potions were normally taught, Harry grudgingly leading in front with his wrists bound before him. The witch (whom Harry dearly detested by that point) followed behind, her wand tip at the back of his neck at all times. She muttered to herself most of the way through, mostly about the different forms of torture she’d enact on him once she had the headmaster’s approval, and once or twice Harry thought he might have caught the word ‘nundu’, but he wasn’t too sure.

They moved throughout the castle undisturbed for the most part, only coming across someone when they were down to the third floor.

“Good afternoon Norris,” an auburn-haired wizard wearing deep violet robes greeted cheerfully, his light blue eyes twinkling in the torchlight all around them. “And what happens to be the problem here?”

Harry had never been so relieved to see Albus Dumbledore in his entire life.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir, I’ve found a trespasser!” the witch (apparently named Norris) behind Harry announced importantly, jabbing his neck sharply with her wand. “He was lurking about in one of the corridors off the seventh floor, no doubt trying to cause mayhem.”

“Is that so?” Dumbledore peered at him intensely for a few moments, his expression serene as if Norris were simply talking about the state of the weather outdoors.

“I was trying to find the headmaster’s office, sir.” Harry spoke up hesitantly, wondering what all the Dumbledore in _this_ time knew, both about his mission to stop Riddle, and his identity.

“Ah!” Dumbledore exclaimed in a soft tone, standing up a little straighter. “Mr. Peverell, you’re quite a bit earlier than I was expecting. It’s no wonder you were off on your own; you probably didn’t want to inconvenience me with a request for an earlier meeting time.”

“Er, yeah,” Harry agreed, nodding slowly. Why Peverell, for a surname? Had this been why Dumbledore had wanted him to look up his ancestry? “I didn’t want to be a bother, and I thought I’d be able to find my way on my own, based on where I was told the location of the headmaster’s office was.”

“You may, of course, release him,” Dumbledore informed Norris pleasantly with a smile. “Young Hadrian here is no threat to Hogwarts- merely, a new student that simply happened to get a bit lost.”

So he was to go by Hadrian Peverell, then, Harry mused, sighing in relief as Norris reluctantly released him from the shackles bound around his wrists and gave him back his wand. He had no idea how Dumbledore had somehow managed to give him an alias here in the past, but he was glad that his mentor had.

“Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Filch,” Dumbledore told the witch cheerfully, clasping his hands together behind his back.

Norris tsked in displeasure. “Don’t think I don’t got my eye on you,” she warned Harry darkly. “You got lucky this once, but it won’t happen again.” With that, she strode away, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone in the corridor.

“Causing trouble _already,_ Mr. Peverell?” Dumbledore asked in amusement, glancing over at Harry. In the subtle shift of light, his bright blue eyes seemed to twinkle even brighter.

Harry shifted, crossing his arms over his chest uneasily. “I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, his cheeks pinking in embarrassment. “I hadn’t thought there was anyone around.”

"I should warn you,” Dumbledore began, his tone growing slightly more grave, “that while I may have deterred Norris for the time being, she won’t be quite as hesitant should she find you in a place you shouldn’t be in again.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Duly noted, sir.”

“Come along,” the professor instructed in a much lighter tone, turning and making his way to the staircase that would slowly but surely lead up to what would one day become his office. “I expect Armando will be awaiting us.”

“Sir?” Harry asked in confusion, falling into step beside the professor. “Excuse me, but how did he- and you, for that matter- know I was here?”

“I suppose one might chalk it up to a great sense of intuition on my part,” Dumbledore answered cryptically, seeming to confirm Harry’s earlier suspicion that he somehow knew more about this all than he let on.

“Oh,” Harry replied simply, falling silent. It stayed that way for just a moment before Dumbledore spoke once more.

“Might I assume your journey here was pleasant?”

“It was fine,” Harry replied, wondering if Dumbledore was going to mention anything to him about the mission, or if the only debriefing Harry would get on it had occurred the night previous.

Dumbledore nodded and the rest of the trip to the headmaster’s office was a quiet one. Harry found himself surveying his surroundings as they passed (not a whole lot had changed, predictably) and his would-be mentor made a comment here and there about the significance of one painting or another, and pointed out hallways that lead to different areas of the school.

As they approached the familiar stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster’s office, Harry briefly wondered what kind of passwords Headmaster Dippet used. Would it be something relating to his personality, like Dumbledore with sweets, or was he the type of headmaster to choose something far more impersonal like academics? What it actually was, he wouldn’t get the chance to find out. Dumbledore murmured something quietly to the gargoyle in a completely different language and it moved to the side, permitting them access.

“Go on up,” Dumbledore instructed, gesturing to the ever-revolving stairs. “Once you reach the top, you’ll come across Armando’s office. Knock once, and he should respond immediately. Good luck on your sorting.” Here, he leaned forward slightly, giving Harry a small smile. “I might be a bit biased given my own house standing, but I find that Gryffindor would be a wonderful place to find your niche.”

Harry smiled back, giving the professor a nod. “That sounds wonderful,” he replied warmly, knowing all too well just how homelike the red and gold House could be. “I’ll try my best.” He brushed past Professor Dumbledore into the small alcove, stepping onto the moving stairs with no small amount of trepidation.

As the spiral staircase slowly moved upward, Harry contemplated exactly what he was going to tell the headmaster when he walked in. Dumbledore had given him a name to work with, so now all he need to come up with was a viable backstory and then he’d be good. For good measure, it would be best to come up with a mix of the truth and a lie, he mused. That way, he wouldn’t need to remember a bunch of small details and accidentally let something slip that was true to _him,_ but not Hadrian Peverell.

The stairs stopped in front of a familiar set of oak doors and as Harry stepped forward, his breath caught in his chest.

This was it.

He lifted the heavy brass knocker and raised it a little, then let it fall back against the door. A moment later, a tired-sounding voice resonated. “Enter.”

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside, glancing around in interest. From a first look, it was plain. Much, much plainer than the one he’d grown used to seeing through the course of four years. Opting to properly poke around the space later on if he got a chance, Harry focused his attentions to the wizard before him. Headmaster Dippet was a weary-looking man, his dusty brown hair already greying at the roots even though he surely couldn’t have been too much older than Dumbledore was. Despite this, he looked paradoxically cheerful.

Harry dipped his head once toward him before speaking. “Good afternoon Headmaster.”

“Ah, Mr. Peverell,” Dippet responded, nodding once. “Yes, I’d heard word that a strange person had appeared within the castle. Tell me, was your journey hard on you?”

Where was he supposed to come from, that that particular question would pop up so often in conversation? Harry wondered as he shook his head. “No, sir. It was fairly easy, circumstances considered.” For extra good measure, he smiled.

Headmaster Dippet smiled back. “Good, good,” he said jovially. “Go on and have a seat, my boy.”

Harry did so, looking around once more. It was so _odd,_ to see the office in this time when he’d been in it just a few hours previous in the future. It was so _bare._ The shelves were barely filled with anything, and the Sorting Hat didn’t look quite as…happy, from where it perched on the desk in front of him.

“Tell me Hadrian, are you familiar with the way Hogwarts does things?” Headmaster Dippet asked, gesturing to the forlorn Sorting Hat.

Harry decided immediately that yes, his alias _would_ know a thing or two about the school. He nodded, “yes sir. Ordinarily upon coming to the school, students are Sorted into one of four Houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin.” He shifted his expression into a curious one, looking down at the Hat. “Is that how it’s done?”

“Yes,” Headmaster Dippet confirmed, nodding. “Whenever you’re ready Mr. Peverell, just place the hat on your head and it’ll look into who you are as a person and sort you into one of the Houses.”

“Right,” Harry murmured, reaching out hesitantly and picking up the hat. He closed his eyes and placed it over his head, his heart beating faster in anticipation. Almost right away, the Sorting Hat spoke.

 _Well well well, what have we here?_ it questioned, sounding amused. _You do not belong here, Harry Potter._

 _Can you see my thoughts?_ Harry asked it, even though he knew that the Sorting Hat had to be able to, at least on some level, in order to Sort students. _Do you understand why I'm here?_

 _I understand many things,_ the hat replied vaguely. _Things even you cannot comprehend._

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry smiled wryly. _I can imagine you do._

_The question is, Mr. Potter, where should I place you? Would you protest my choice as you have before? Are you not already?_

_I have no say, this time,_ Harry replied honestly. _Not if it makes a difference between saving the wizarding world and damning it._

 _The Peverells are traditionally Gryffindor,_ the Sorting Hat mused. _Your family line is, anyway. But there is something else there, something undeniably_ **_Slytherin_ ** _about you._ It was silent for a moment, before speaking again. _I do not plan to fail in placing you where you belong a second time, Harry Potter._

 _I expected as much,_ Harry thought, snorting almost inaudibly.

 _Good luck on your task,_ the hat told him, its tone smug with finality. "SLYTHERIN!" it announced a moment later with great conviction, and the plain black robes Harry wore changed to reflect the fact that he now belonged to the House of Snakes, the lining of the robes turning emerald and the crest turning from the Hogwarts crest to the Slytherin one.

Harry sighed in relief and stood, carefully taking off the hat and placing it on Headmaster Dippet's desk. "So what now?" he asked curiously. There'd never been a transfer student in his time after all, and Dumbledore hadn't told him how the process would work.

 _Perhaps,_ Harry mused with a sardonic smile, _he doesn't know the process himself. He did say it was a rarity._

One of the things Harry knew was likely to happen was that the headmaster would figure out his schedule, and with that would likely come placement tests. Tests that, knowing his luck, would take _hours._

"Tell me Mr. Peverell, what subjects were you taught at home?"

"Just the basics," Harry replied, thinking quickly. "I took what I was told were the five core subjects: Defense, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology."

"You didn't study any extracurriculars?" Headmaster Dippet asked, surprised.

"Er, no," Harry replied lamely. "Not really. I didn't really have an interest in Arithmancy, and my tutor thought that Divination is a load of rubbish." _Which it is,_ he added mentally. "I did study astronomy though," he offered. "And I didn't do too badly with it."

"What of your other subjects?" Dippet asked, and Harry grinned. This was the one area he could be truthful in, without having to worry about anything giving away his cover.

"My best class was defense," he answered. "My tutor preferred a hands on approach, so I have experience dealing with a variety of magical creatures and defensive magic." Headmaster Dippet nodded in acknowledgment, and he continued on to describe his experience with his other classes, leaving out the fact that he always did poorly in Potions because his previous 'tutor' was a git that held a grudge against him.

“Very well,” Dippet said when Harry had finished. “Your OWL results were exceptional for your status as a homeschooled wizard, and I feel like you’ll do very well here.”

“Wait, what?” Harry blinked several times, both confused and alarmed at the same time. OWLs hadn’t even occurred to him when he was packing last night, and it made absolutely no sense that the school had somehow gotten his.

….Unless they’d gotten _Hadrian’s?_ Had he somehow gone into the past as he was supposed to, but shoved into someone else’s body in the process?

Just the thought made him want to be sick. He’d experienced possession firsthand at the ministry last June, and just the very _notion_ that _he_ could be possessing someone _himself…_

 _It’s not like that._ Harry reminded himself, shuddering and wrapping his arms around himself. _I would know if this wasn’t my body. This is just a weird coincidence, that’s all._

“My condolences Mr. Peverell, are you cold?” Came the concerned voice of Headmaster Dippet, and Harry forced himself back to reality.

“Sorry Sir, just a tad bit,” he lied, faking a smile. “I’m far more used to the warmer climates from my travels; my guardian rather enjoyed escaping during the winter.”

Headmaster Dippet nodded gravely, although the smile he gave Harry was full of amusement. “I’m afraid you might want to layer your warming charms at night then,” he replied good-naturedly. “The dungeons tend to get rather chilly, as they’re situated under the lake.”

For a moment, Harry could do nothing but gape. Was he serious? Not that Harry really _was_ cold, he’d been through much worse before, but _surely_ adequate solutions were made for the Slytherins, right?

“Now then,” Dippet went on, brushing off Harry’s look of shock with an ease he hadn’t thought the headmaster would have, “have you thought about what courses you would like to continue in for the remainder of your education?”

Harry thought for a few moments, shifting uneasily. “I figured the normal ones would be best,” he stated, the end of the sentence inflecting to sound more like a question.

“Do you have any post-education plans, such as continuing school in university?”

“I mean, living would be nice,” Harry muttered with a small huff of a laugh, momentarily forgetting just _when_ he was. Then, he remembered and his eyes widened in alarm. “I mean- What I meant to say, is-”

Dippet held up a hand patiently, as if this wasn’t the first time he’d heard that particular answer. “I suppose the question is, Mr. Peverell, what do you want to do with your life?” he asked, setting the course guide down on the table in front of Harry. “What do you see yourself doing in ten years?”

 _Hopefully being alive,_ Harry reiterated in his mind, picking up the guide and skimming over it quickly. There wasn’t too much he wasn’t already familiar with, save for a course here or there that he’d never heard of before. _Although, depending on the luck of this mission, that shouldn’t be very hard to achieve._

Harry placed the course list back on the desk and leaned back in his chair, thinking deeply. Last year when he’d held his academic meeting with Professor McGonagall (and Umbridge), he’d blurted out ‘an auror’ because it was the first thing that had come to mind, and because fighting dark wizards seemed like something he was destined to do.

(Not to mention, of course, that he _was_ destined to fight a dark lord, according to Trelawney’s prophecy.)

Could he really see himself doing that ten years from now, though? Come to think of it, could he really see himself doing _anything_ ten years from now?

“I… I don’t know, actually, Professor,” Harry finally responded slowly.

Dippet nodded, as if it were the answer he’d been expecting. And hell, for all Harry knew, he _had_ been. “That is perfectly fine. Most of the time, students _don’t_ know what they want to do. Is there anything you’re particularly good at?”

“Well…” Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably. What if he answered and Dippet told him the very thing he wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear anymore? “I’ve always been really good at defense, Sir. And, erm, dueling I guess. Fighting.”

Once more, Dippet nodded. If Harry looked closely, he could almost see a bit of the future’s Dumbledore in the elder wizard, a bit of the same wisdom and omniscient _knowing_ in his expression.

“Have you thought, perhaps, of becoming an auror?”

Aaaand there it was.

“The thing is,” Harry explained, feeling overly awkward and for some reason, simultaneously ashamed, “I’m not really so sure that I want to be an auror. A few years ago, last year even, I felt like there was nothing better. But now, I feel like… I feel like I could do more.”

“That’s perfectly natural,” Dippet told him, writing something down on a sheet of parchment. “I’ll mark it down though, in case you change your mind later.”

“Alright,” Harry murmured, nodding once.

“How about teaching?” Dippet questioned, scribbling on the parchment once more. “Professor Merrythought will be retiring in a few years, and it may take some time to find a suitable replacement.”

Harry shifted again, uneasily recalling how Tom had had applied for the position himself, as soon as he was able. “Aren’t I a bit young though, Sir?” he pressed, wondering if the professor’s judgments on Riddle would be placed on him, too. “Shouldn’t someone more… _experienced_ take the position?”

After a long moment of silence, Dippet spoke. “You make a fair point, Mr. Peverell. Perhaps in the future though, you might think again on it.”

Harry nodded, relieved that he could make Dippet see sense. After all, it wouldn’t do for him to be given preference over Tom, especially considering that they were the same age now.

Merlin, wouldn’t _that_ be something? If _he_ were the reason for Tom becoming Voldemort, even after all the trouble of trying to _prevent_ it?

“Is there anything else you’re good at?” Dippet questioned after another moment of absolute silence, save for the sound of his quill scratching away on the parchment. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what he was writing.

“I fly,” Harry offered, wondering if it was really the best idea to drag quidditch into this too.

“Okay,” Dippet said simply, prompting Harry to go on.

“I can play quidditch,” Harry elaborated. “Seeker. But I don’t think - I’ve never thought about making a career out of it.”

Now that he was, though… he’d been complimented on his flying, more than once, and even by Viktor Krum himself. Professional quidditch would mean living a life in the spotlight, but Harry already did, so it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

“Seekers are very valued for their skill sets,” Dippet mused. “Depending on your talent, it could be a good idea. I’m afraid playing for the school team is out of the question for the remainder of this term, however.”

“That’s fine,” Harry replied. With any luck, his mission would be over before the end of the school year anyway, and then he could carry his new career prospects over to _his_ time. “Always next year.”

“Will that be all?” Dippet asked, and Harry nodded.

“Unless you have any other career suggestions for me?”

“There is always Healing,” Dippet told him. “Depending on how well you do in your classes. Or if mystery is more your tune, the Ministry is always hiring Unspeakables.”

“I’ll keep both of those in mind,” Harry told him sincerely, his mind buzzing with all the new options suddenly at his perusal, things he _could_ do that he had never even thought of before.

“Excellent!” Dippet smiled, picking up the parchment he’d been writing on, and handing it to Harry. “This is going to be your schedule then, unless you find any problems with it?”

The moment Harry saw the makeshift schedule Dippet had written down for him, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It was a perfect replica of his class schedule from the future, down to the times of his free periods and specific class blocks.

“I think this will do perfectly fine,” Harry finally told him once he was sure he could keep a straight face.

“Excellent.” Headmaster Dippet beamed at him again in an utterly proud, Dumbledore-esque fashion that Harry couldn’t help but find uncanny, and stood. “If you’ll wait here for just a few minutes, I’ll return shortly with one of your house members. He’ll show you to your dorm and then around the rest of the school.”

Harry’s stomach roiled at the knowledge of who would most likely be showing him around, but he forced a smile instead of the grimace he _wanted_ to give. He nodded complacently, “alright, Sir.”

And then Dippet was gone, leaving Harry alone in a room that was vastly different from its counterpart fifty-four years in the future. Gone were the trinkets that had made the room so bright and inviting, and gone was the stand in the corner that Fawkes regularly perched on in his own time. Where Dumbledore had fashioned the office to be as personal and like him as possible, it seemed as if Dippet had done the exact opposite. The office itself was very impersonal and bland, decorated sparsely with nothing but the portraits of previous headmasters and the sorting hat placed on a half-full bookshelf.

Curiously, Harry got up and walked over to it, to see if any of the books would give away anything about the person Dippet was, or what his own views were. Less than even a minute later, his search proved fruitless. The only reading material Dippet kept on hand was the textbooks for each subject; nothing more, nothing less.

Frankly, it was more than a little disappointing.

Contradictingly enough though, it also served to pique Harry's interest further. Someone who presented such a clearly false open front had nothing but secrets to hide, that much he knew from experience. And for someone as important to this timeline as Dippet was....

Harry resolved to sneak back in here at some point in time to investigate further and quickly went back to his seat just as the creaking of the revolving stairs outside the office started up again.

(Odd. They never did that in the future. Was it something Dippet had never fixed simply due to laziness, or was it paranoia that had driven the wizened man to leaving it that way?)

Harry forced the thought from his mind just as the door opened and Headmaster Dippet walked in, followed by none other than Tom bloody Riddle.

 _Called it,_ Harry thought sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It only made sense that Dippet would choose _him,_ he was a prefect, after all, and a model student to boot.

"Hadrian, this is Tom," Dippet started, gesturing to the student that had come to stand beside his desk and was studying Harry with an openly curious expression on his face. "He's in your year, and kindly offered to be your guide. Tom, this is Hadrian Peverell. I'm sure you'll do your very best to make him feel welcome."

 _Oh, I'm sure he will,_ Harry thought darkly, his eyes raking over Tom's far too innocent stance. _What better way to corrupt them than get to them from the very beginning?_

"Hello," Tom said slowly, giving him a smile that looked far too much like a smirk for Harry's comfort. "It's a pleasure to meet you Hadrian; welcome to Hogwarts."

"Pleasure's all mine," Harry returned carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. He smiled at Riddle though, remembering his place. Riddle wasn’t Voldemort yet, he _wasn’t,_ and Harry’s entire purpose here was to stop it. He couldn’t let prejudices from the future get in the way of his mission, no matter how much he loathed the murderous git.

Tom offered him a hand, and Harry stared contemplatively at it for a moment. What was it with Slytherins and the gesture of handshakes to signify friendship? First Malfoy had done it in his first year, and Tom Riddle was now.

“I should hope,” Riddle murmured, breaking him from his thoughts, “that we become friends.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before he stood with a nod, and clasped Riddle’s hand with his own. “I would like that,” he agreed, his tone more guarded than he would have liked. He just hoped Riddle wouldn’t notice it.

“Wonderful!” Dippet interjected, clapping his hands a few times and making both boys jump. Harry could have sworn that Riddle gave the headmaster a look of utter hatred, but it shifted into a much milder one of irritation before he could be sure. “Now, best be off with you both. Supper will begin soon, and I’m sure Hadrian would appreciate a full tour of the castle before he has to attend classes tomorrow.”

Riddle nodded, charming smile back in place. “Of course,” he chimed, letting go of Harry’s hand. “Shall we go, Hadrian? I have much to show you, if we’re to be finished in time for dinner. Hogwarts makes the best food,” he added, as if it would make Harry more eager to get the tour over with.

Which, he already was. Just not for the reasons Riddle probably thought.

Still, he nodded amicably and strode to the door, satisfied when Riddle followed. Harry gave Headmaster Dippet a final nod, then spoke after hesitating for a moment.

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll visit sometime, let you know how I’m settling in.”

Riddle brushed his way past Harry and led the way out of the office silently, not sparing him a second glance as they slowly made their way down toward the dungeons. Harry was more than content to let Riddle lead the way, so he could spend the few minutes they had appraising the dark lord to-be. As they walked down flights of stairs and through corridors, Riddle occasionally spoke, telling him what certain rooms were and any interesting facts he knew about each particular section of the castle.

“And these are the dungeons of the castle,” Riddle described in an almost bored tone as they descended the final flight of stairs and swept into an all-too-familiar corridor. “Traditionally, since magic is much more muted in this part of the castle, save the Slytherin living area of course, any and all Potions work is done here.”

Harry nodded. What Riddle was telling him was common knowledge for the fact that potions were volatile and delicate on even the best of days, but he figured that it would be best to make a remark on it anyway. “Because potions have the tendency to be finicky around magic, right?”

“Yes.” Tom seemed to _preen_ as he answered, making Harry wonder what on earth he was so pleased about. “You are correct. Our Potions Professor, Slughorn, also happens to be the Head of Slytherin House, which is convenient because his quarters are close by. The other houses don’t have the same easy access to their House Heads that we do.”

“Our common room-” Here, his voice dropped an octave, as if he was about to share a secret. Which, Harry supposed, it _was._ Supposed to be one, anyway. “-is more securely hidden than any other in the castle. Its entrance is hidden up a small set of stairs behind an alcove, and it looks like a blank wall to any outsider. Only we Slytherins know the truth behind it.”

As they passed the office that would someday become Snape’s, and then the Potions classroom they used in the future, Riddle’s steps became ever so slightly faster. Just a few paces past yet _another_ empty Potions room, Tom ducked into an alcove that was admittingly well-hidden itself. It was a fairly large opening in the wall, but the wall directly behind it was the exact same pattern, giving off the illusion that the alcove wasn’t there.

“If you ever get lost trying to find this place again, don’t hesitate to ask any one of us,” Riddle instructed, his voice a low murmur as it echoed in the space around them. He turned to face Harry, his expression indecipherable. “The password changes every fortnight, but will be posted on the cork board in the common room. Never give any non-house members the password, and never under _any_ circumstance allow a non-Slytherin into the common room. We operate by a large number of rules, but they’re for our own protection. Do you think you can adhere to them?”

Harry nodded, and Riddle visibly relaxed. “Good,” he said. “The password is _Invictus Maneo._ It’s Latin for ‘I remain unvanquished’. You’ll come to find that most of our passwords reflect something along those lines. They’re a tribute to the mindset of Slytherin as a whole.”

As Riddle spoke, the stone in the wall shifted to form an opening much like the entrance to Diagon Alley, and together they entered the Slytherin living area. It was a lot how Harry remembered it from his brief escapade into it back in second year. They were standing in the middle of something like a modified entrance hall, four stone pillars strategically placed before a set of steps that would lead upward into the common room. To their right and left were two different corridors with a set of stairs each, that Harry assumed must lead to the dormitories.

“This is our common room,” Tom began, gesturing to the room that lay beyond the steps. “Everyone else is already at dinner, so it’s fairly empty for now. You’re rather lucky we set off when we did. This way, you can meet our housemates in a more neutral setting.” He walked over to the narrow corridor on the left next and walked down the steps. “These are the men’s dormitories,” he said, motioning to the two new corridors before them. “Two rooms for each year, although we rarely have to use more than one.”

Harry nodded. It was a different setup than the Gryffindors had- their rooms just magically expanded to make more room, much like the Room of Requirement did.

Ignoring the corridor that went straight, Riddle instead went down the one that went off to the left, pausing in front of a door marked with an elegant looking number six. Without any further ado, he pushed open the door, revealing the room beyond. Harry let out a quiet gasp as he stepped in. In comparison to the Slytherin dorm, the Gryffindor one he’d come to know and love over the past few years was dull in comparison.

Where the Gryffindor dormitory overlooked the castle grounds, the Slytherin dorm was built _into_ the lake. There was a large skylight in the ceiling of the room, casting it into a murky light greenish colour and underneath that, on the center of the floor was an honest to god _fountain._ On the far east side of the room was a daybed that leaned right up against a large window that looked into the lake, and every once in a while a fish swam past it. Simply put, Harry was _stunned._

No _wonder_ Malfoy had always bragged that Slytherin was the best house of the four.

“Welcome to your new home for the rest of the semester,” Riddle said cheerfully, striding past him and further into the room. He pointed to the only unoccupied bed in the first half of the room, the one closest to the door on the left. “This one’s going to be yours. You have the choice of unpacking now, or coming to dinner and doing all that later. What’ll it be, Hadrian?”

“I’ll unpack after dinner,” Harry decided, walking over to the bed. He took his trunk out of his pocket and set it on the ground, then unshrunk it. Quickly, he glanced around the room. “How many of us are there this year anyway?”

 

 

"So, what brings you here to Hogwarts so late in your education?" Riddle asked as they walked towards the great hall for supper.

"Reasons," Harry replied dismissively, his tone clipped. "Shouldn’t you be playing the part of tour guide right about now?"

"This corridor is straight," Tom pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "And I figured that, strangely enough, I shouldn't need to," he drawled with a small smirk. "You've been too sure of yourself, confident enough to keep about two steps in front of me this entire time. Tell me Hadrian, have you been here before? You're much less awed than the first years normally are in their first weeks here."

Harry nearly froze in his tracks- only the knowledge that doing so would arouse Tom's suspicion further stopped him. "It's just that I've done a lot of traveling," he lied quickly, heat rushing to his cheeks. "So I've seen a lot of impressive magical structures."

"Hm." The other eyebrow went up and Riddle's lips curled upward in amusement. "Traveling, hm? In a war-ridden world? Tell me Hadrian, how was it?"

Harry hesitated, falling more closely in step with Riddle's leisurely pace. "It was sad," he murmured, thinking of his own time; the fear he had seen in the eyes of his classmates, the death of Cedric, the death of _Sirius._ "So much bloodshed, and for what?"

"You're naïve, for a Slytherin," Tom commented. He came to a stop in front of Harry, eyeing him calculatingly. "Humans have been fighting since the beginning of time. It's only in their nature."

"And wizards?" Harry asked, meeting Riddle's neutral gaze with his own cold one. "Is it in our nature, too?"

"Arguably, since we are humans," Riddle answered easily. His expression turned amused as his eyes quickly swept over Harry's form. "You _are_ naïve," he murmured. "You wear your heart on your sleeve; you're like an open book. The House will eat you alive." He sounded both fascinated and delighted by this fact, and Harry almost wondered if he needed to be worried by that.

"There's no need for war," Harry said simply. "It never ends well, for either side. You lose more than you gain."

"Even if it's to prevent the destruction of our kind?" Riddle questioned. "Even if it would guarantee our safety, secure our future?"

"War is never the first answer."

"You do not agree with Grindelwald's views," Riddle observed, visibly intrigued now.

"And you do," Harry returned evenly.

"I've seen the results of war firsthand. Things you would never want to find in your worst nightmares, much less witness in reality. He has a valid point, and he'll lead wizardkind to greatness," Riddle murmured quietly. "One would think that you, an experienced traveler, would surely agree."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint," he retorted. "But no. No matter the cause, it's never good enough to justify violence and bloodshed."

To his surprise, Riddle chuckled. It was an almost pleasant, warm sound, a far cry from what it would become in the future. "You know, it's almost a wonder how a wizard from a traditionally Light family would end up in a house that favours the Dark," he mused.

“That’s for me to know,” Harry said lowly, his eyes narrowing. “You’re quite the wonder, too. One would expect a model student to come from a House like Ravenclaw, rather than a House of your reputation, no?”

Riddle offered him a grin. “Lord Slytherin is an ancestor of mine,” he replied with an offhand shrug. “It would only make sense for the Hat to place me in the House I truly belong in. I have to admit, though, I’m surprised. House is not an accurate indicator of one’s character. What would it say about yours, otherwise?”

For a good moment, Harry was at a loss for what to say in response to that. In Tom’s own view, he had a point, and even Harry had to silently admit that to insist that he was the exception would sound suspiciously biased. Despite not yet knowing how he wanted to act around Riddle, he knew that he couldn’t afford to completely alienate the whole of Slytherin House by offense.

“You’re right,” he conceded grudgingly. “But you are every bit the stereotypical Slytherin, right down to the mask you wear in public.”

“Oh _really?”_ An eyebrow arched delicately in surprise, but Tom’s relaxed smile didn’t waver. “I suppose you’d know exactly what I am like, then?”

"Better than you think," Harry replied dismissively. He slowed his walk down, looking around more widely at his surroundings. "So, this is Hogwarts. I've read an awful lot about this place. Is it true the ceiling's enchanted?"

He glanced back at Riddle to see that his expression had shifted, the look gentler than any Harry had ever seen on the teen. "Yes," he replied, his voice soft. "It is quite the magnificent sight, the first time you see it."

"I can imagine it is," Harry murmured, thinking back to his own sorting, and the first time he'd ever seen the castle himself. He'd been as awestruck as everyone else, surely, but seeing it had held more meaning to him; it had been more proof that magic was real, and not some lie the Dursleys had conjured up as a cruel trick.

"The castle holds many secrets, of course, that are far more impressive," Riddle went on. "If you'd like, I can show you sometime."

Harry's heart beat quicker in excitement. "Could you?" he questioned eagerly. Was Riddle talking about the Chamber of Secrets? Would it really be this easy to stop him? Merlin, his mission could be over within the week!

Riddle eyed him contemplatively, a smirk disguised as a smile playing on his lips. "Of course," he murmured. "In return, you simply _must_ tell me more about your travels.  I've never been out of England before, you see."

"Oh," Harry replied, thinking. "Sure thing."

"Ah!" Riddle uttered a soft exclamation and gestured ahead to what Harry already knew were the doors to the great hall. Sounds swelled within, filtering out into the hallway in a low roar. "We've arrived at last. Be prepared for the best eating experience you'll ever have Hadrian, Hogwarts makes nothing but the best."

"The courses vary between the different houses, right?" Harry asked curiously. Malfoy was always boasting about the luxurious things he ate compared to the 'absolute druel' the Gryffindors were served, but Harry wasn't sure if there was actually any merit to his words.

Riddle nodded after a moment. "Yes and no," he said slowly. "The courses tend to be the same most of the time, but they do differ on select nights, the holidays mostly. Other times, if a house has won some sort of competition. That sort of thing."

"Interesting," Harry murmured as they stepped up to the doors. He raised his voice slightly to null out the sounds of the other students chattering. "Of course, I've had some pretty excellent food before, on my travels you see. The school will really have to try if they're looking to impress me."

"I'm sure you'll find it won't be a challenge," Tom said dismissively, taking that moment to push open the doors in a rather grandiose manner. "Welcome, Hadrian, to Hogwarts."

In the fifty-some odd years it was in the present, the great hall had barely changed. The podium up at the front was no longer a golden eagle though, but instead was just...plain. It must have been changed when Dumbledore became headmaster then.

As they walked into the hall and paused so Harry could take it all in, many students cut off their chatter to look over at them; most likely at Tom just as much as Harry, if Riddle's presumed popularity was really as great as it had seemed in memory.

Harry looked up at the night sky above them and gasped, hoping that it didn't sound too incredibly forced. "It's amazing!"

"That it is," Riddle agreed in a low tone, nodding. His gaze, too, was momentarily on the stars glittering overhead.

"So which house is which?" Harry asked loudly, looking around to the other tables. To his surprise, most students had already turned back to their meals, rather than stare at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. Harry found the change both refreshing and welcome.

"The ones wearing the blue are the Ravenclaws," Tom explained, gesturing to the table on their right. "And the ones in yellow on our other side are the Hufflepuffs. 'Valued' for their loyalty and hard work, known as the softest of the bunch. The Ravenclaws are renowned for their intelligence. Many of them go on to become great scholars and inventors. The idiots in red-" Here, his voice became more strained, tense. It broke his facade of being the perfect, likable student, and that alone almost made Harry grin. "-are known as the Gryffindors. They're the stupidest of us all, much more impulsive and brash. If you ever get into an argument with one, let them think they've won it and get your revenge at a later time. Subtlety is key."

Harry nodded, shifting his features to look thoughtful. "I'll remember that," he told Riddle. He nodded over at the table on the other side of the Ravenclaws. "So the Slytherins are there?"

"Indeed," Riddle said with a nod. A hand came to rest on his arm, fingers curling gently. "Follow me, and I'll take you to my friends. They’re among the greatest Hogwarts has to offer."

Harry sincerely doubted that, but he allowed himself to be led over to the Slytherin table anyway, closer to the end near the High Table where the staff sat. Though it was plain to see that the Slytherins were not sorted by year as a first glance as one would normally presume, there _was_ some sort of structure to how they sat.

It was utterly absurd, Harry mused as he took it all in. In Gryffindor, one sat with their friends regardless of year or anything else.

“Good evening,” Riddle greeted a cluster of students cordially as they neared.

“’Lo Tom,” a boy with light blond hair murmured, looking up from his dinner plate to grin lopsidedly at them. “Who’s this?”

“This is Hadrian Peverell,” Riddle announced, gesturing toward Harry. “He’s a sixth year like us. I expect you will all make him feel at home.” With that, he dropped his hands to his sides and took an empty spot next to a male with dark hair, then began to load up his own plate with food.

Harry was left to look like a fool as he tried to figure out where he would- or _could-_ sit.

Thankfully, the blond that had spoken seemed to have him covered. “Abraxas, move over would you? I want the new kid to sit with me.”

“This is _my_ spot though!” a boy with long silvery blond hair- _Clearly a Malfoy,_ Harry thought in distaste- protested, setting his fork down on his nearly finished dinner plate with an air of indignation. “Why should I have to move?”

“Hadrian’s a year your senior Abraxas,” the blond replied firmly, as if that were a good enough excuse. “Now move, before people start staring, yeah? I doubt you want to cause trouble.”

“I can sit somewhere else,” Harry piped up, shifting uncomfortably. “Really, it’s no big-”

“Nonsense,” a cool, quiet voice interrupted, and Harry froze.

“Avery has offered to let you sit with him, Hadrian. You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Riddle continued breezily. “I needn’t mention that Benjamin has a point in his offering. You’re a year over Malfoy, and so you’ve earned the spot by default.”

 _But that makes no sense,_ Harry wanted to protest. After all, he had seen what looked like a couple of students even older than them sitting closer to the doors where they’d entered, rather than near the teachers where they were now.

He didn’t say anything against Riddle’s decision, though. To do so would have brought (likely) unwanted attention to him. Instead, he forced himself to watch as a lowly grumbling Malfoy picked up his goblet and plate, and swapped it with the empty seat to his right.

“Sorry,” he muttered to Abraxas as he took a seat, letting his hands fall to his lap rather than grab any food. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry- he felt almost famished, actually, but he didn’t think he’d be able to muster up an appetite.

Had anyone ever tried to suggest to Draco Malfoy in his time that he’d have to _move_ just because someone a bit older and supposedly ‘more deserving’ of his place came along, he probably would have tossed out a line about complaining to his father, or hexed the person, or… _something;_ Harry didn’t know.

Point was, Malfoy wouldn’t have just obeyed.

“So Hadrian- do you mind if I call you that?” The blond- Avery, asked, not waiting for an answer as he continued. “How’d you come to be here? I don’t think Hogwarts has ever had a transfer student before. What school did you go to?”

“You should probably eat something,” a new voice intoned dully before Harry could say anything. Its owner was the boy sitting directly across from him. His hair was brown and he had startlingly light blue eyes that made his gaunt features more prominent. “The food will disappear as soon as dinner’s over, and that won’t be too very long from now. Dessert will appear within the next half hour probably.”

“Right,” Harry replied with a small sigh, looking over the options. Riddle hadn’t been lying when he’d said the meals were mostly the same; he could recognize a lot of dishes that looked similar to things he’d seen plenty of times on the Gryffindor table in the future.

Selecting some roast with gravy, potatoes, and a little bit of Yorkshire pudding, Harry settled back and dug heartily into his dinner. It was all very delicious, and the roast was more tender than he could ever remember it being in his own time.

After devouring a few bites, he decided to answer Avery’s questions. “Hadrian is fine,” he started in between swallows. “My guardian died recently and I was homeschooled up until now.”

 _“Really?”_ Avery asked, and Harry was struck dumb over the fascination in his tone. “What was it like?”

Harry shrugged. “Boring for the most part,” he muttered. “I learned, and did homework, and had tests. It was still school.”

“But surely that couldn’t have been _too_ boring?” Riddle spoke up, his tone almost teasingly knowing. “You did mention to me that you’ve done a lot of traveling; surely you’re far more cultured for it?”

For a moment, Harry hated Tom Riddle more than anything else in the world, and then he shifted the thought to hating that he hadn’t had more time to create a good backstory. Of _course_ Riddle would remember a small detail as insignificant as that, especially since they’d spent a good couple of minutes bickering _because_ of it!

 _Merlin,_ Harry thought, resisting the urge to groan in exasperation. He _needed_ to get better at this whole thing, and quickly if he ever wanted to keep his true origins a secret.

“It _was_ interesting, getting to travel around the world,” Harry agreed carefully, not looking at Riddle as he spoke. He was already a Legilimens, right? Or had he learned it during the missing decade or so of his life?

“So where all have you gone?” Avery asked him curiously, leaning forward to rest a hand on his chin inquisitively.

“Oh, er-” Harry stuttered. “I-”

“He’s been all over the place,” the dark haired male to Tom’s right interrupted quietly, not looking up from his own nearly finished dinner. “France, Indonesia, Belgium. Italy too, and a few islands here and there in the past few years.” Now, he looked up and directly at Harry with an unnerving little smirk curling on his lips. “Even killed a basilisk once.”

Harry choked on the pumpkin juice he’d just taken a sip of, setting down his goblet roughly. A little sloshed over the side and onto the table, but he was too busy trying to re-regulate his breathing to care.

“No way!” Avery exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. He thumped Harry a couple of times on the back in an attempt to help as he continued. “Did you really? _How?_ I thought it was impossible to even look at them?”

“Tch, I _doubt_ he even did,” Abraxas piped up with a sneer, glowering darkly at both Harry _and_ the dark haired teen. “Everyone knows it’s impossible to kill a dark creature as powerful as the king of serpents.”

“While you’re not incorrect,” Riddle started quietly, “I don’t doubt it. Cassius has never been wrong about anything before, Abraxas. You would do well to remember that, lest I need to _remind_ you one more time.” His tone and posture were both cool and collected, but his gaze betrayed a more troubled mindset.

“H- How did you know about that?” Harry finally managed to gasp out once he had finished coughing. His heart was pounding in his chest at the revelation, his hands shaking from shock and fear and anticipation all rolled into one.

The smirk stretched into a wide grin, Cassius’ pale green eyes meeting Harry’s own. “My name is Cassius Rosier,” he told Harry pleasantly, as if it were a perfectly acceptable response.

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly at the evasion of his question, and he filed it away in his mind to remember later. Despite knowing Rosier’s name at least, it wasn’t near enough to assuage the questions that suddenly plagued his mind.

How did Rosier know about the basilisk? Was it possible that he, too, was a Legilimens and had taught Riddle? Had Riddle taught him? Or had he found out by other means, and was just taunting Harry with the information? Had he _actually_ already managed to blow his cover, not even a full day into the mission?

Harry’s breath caught in his chest at the thought. What else did Rosier know about him that he wasn’t saying? _Why_ wasn’t he saying anything, if he _did_ know something?

 _Merlin, he’s waiting to reveal it later, so they can all deal with me in the privacy of the common room,_ Harry realized, feeling sick as images of unspeakable torture ran through his mind.

“Hadrian?” the male across from him that had spoken earlier prompted quietly, drawing him from his thoughts. “Are you feeling well? You’re looking rather pale.”

Harry forced himself to smile and nod, even though he wasn’t really feeling it. “Yeah,” he lied halfheartedly. “Tired, is all. It’s been a long journey to get here and all.” He looked down at his dinner plate to finish what he’d started, only to find that it had already vanished.

So much for that then.

“I tried to warn you,” the boy chided good naturedly, giving a little shrug. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself, by the way. Name’s Lucian Nott. You can call me Lucian, or Nott, but no nicks.”

“Er- Nice to meet you,” Harry murmured after a moment of hesitation, trying not to stare.

He knew there was a Nott in Slytherin in his year back in the future, but he’d never really paid much attention. Was the future’s Nott so quiet and seemingly friendly? Harry had noticed that he tended to hang around with Malfoy and his cronies, but he’d never been mean enough to make any kind of impression. Tentatively, he decided to give _this_ Nott a chance.

“You should try some of the roly-poly,” Lucian advised, gesturing to the desserts before them. “The treacle tart is pretty good, I’ll give it that, but it gets rather plain after a time.”

“Okay.” Harry took some of the aforementioned dessert and dug in, absentmindedly observing the Slytherins around him as they chatted amongst themselves.

From what Harry could tell, he was sitting directly in the heart of the future Voldemort’s inner circle. Rosier and Avery were both names he recognized from death eaters in his own time, and he had classes with both a Nott and a Malfoy. It seemed though, at a second glance, that Riddle was closest to Rosier. When he spoke, it was often apparently only to the dark haired teen beside him, and Riddle had long since cast a muffling charm so no one else could hear what they were saying.

Unwittingly, Harry sighed as his mind traveled back to the mission at hand.

Prevent Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort. It was a daunting idea, and Harry had no idea how he would actually go about it. Talking to Riddle and making him understand why it would be a bad idea was probably his best bet without resorting to murder, but he could already tell that getting Tom bloody Riddle to change his mind would be anything _but_ easy.

“Hey Peverell?” Avery’s voice sounded tentatively from beside him, effectively breaking his train of thought once more.

“Hmm?” he murmured back, shaking his head a little. He glanced at Avery to see him regarding Harry curiously.

“Tom and Lucian and I are about ready to head down to the dorm, and we wanted to know if you want to come with? Tom says you didn’t unpack any when you guys stopped by there earlier.”

“Did he now?” Harry asked wearily, his mind racing as he considered the semi-offer.

Riddle, Avery, and Nott. Three against one. He could deal with those odds if it was just going to be them. He had before, after all, back in the Department of Mysteries.

His chest suddenly feeling tighter for reasons he refused to acknowledge, Harry forced the thought away and nodded. “Sure, I’ll go with you guys,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant about it and probably failing.

Harry set his utensils down on his plate and stood, and together the four of them left the great hall and headed for the Slytherin dungeons.

The walk was silent for the most part on Harry's end, while the other three around him talked quietly amongst one another. Occasionally a question would be directed to him, but he either shrugged it off and didn't answer, or replied with a simple yes or no where one was warranted. Thankfully, no one had asked him anything personal yet.

That would come later though, once they were in the dorms. Harry knew that much from experience, and he wasn't looking forward to the interrogation to come from the Slytherins he was to call acquaintances for the next... however long it took to complete his mission.

 _§Invictus Maneo,§_ Tom hissed quietly at the wall in Parseltongue as they approached. It permitted them entrance, and they walked into the (thankfully) empty common room.

Avery sighed in relief as the wall closed back behind them. "Finally," he murmured contentedly. "I _hate_ not being here. It always feels like I'm being watched, like someone's out to get me."

"Paranoia," Riddle dismissed stoically, surging ahead of them to the staircase that would lead down to their room.

"I dunno, I feel like he had a point," Harry shot back absentmindedly as he followed, refuting just for the sake of opposition. "There's no telling what the portraits outside of these few walls tell to whom."

"Hadrian has a point," Lucian piped up quietly from his place beside Harry. "Avery might be paranoid, but you know better than anyone that he might have good cause."

Riddle paused on the second to last step, his muscles tensing. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to turn around and curse them all, but then the moment passed and Riddle relaxed again.

"You are right," he conceded begrudgingly. "It is, after all, why Slytherins never travel alone as a principle."

With that he continued, and they entered their room in newly resumed silence, Harry immediately going over to his bed. It was a few minutes to eight, which meant that he had at least an hour before he'd need to go to bed, longer if he so desired.

Since this was his first night in the past, it would probably do him some good to stay up as late as possible, establish half-friendships before allowing himself to be completely vulnerable for several hours on end.

"So _Hadrian,"_ Avery implored, stressing his name. "I can understand you not wanting to mention anything back in the Great Hall, but we're alone now so you have no excuse not to. Did you _really_ kill a basilisk?"

Harry sighed, turning from where he'd opened his trunk to face his other three roommates. Riddle was lounging on the bed to the right of his (oh _ew._ He hoped he didn't have to _sleep_ next to the git!), and Lucian and Avery were both leaning up against the end of the bed opposite Harry's. Each one of them, even though Riddle was feigning boredom, were raptly awaiting his answer.

"I thought we'd decided I _had?”_ he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"That was just what Cassius said," Avery pointed out dismissively. He grinned, "and while I'm usually pretty persuaded to believe anything that comes out of his mouth, he's been known to yank shirttails before for kicks. I wouldn't be surprised if he were about this."

"Oh please," Riddle drawled breezily, rolling over onto his stomach and locking eyes with Harry. "Did you catch the way he reacted? Hadrian's not _that_ good an actor," he said, as if Harry weren't there.

His words sent a chill down Harry's spine, though. Not that good an actor? What was _that_ supposed to mean? Had Riddle really figured him out so quickly, and was hinting that he knew? His eyes widened as he remembered that the dark lord to-be might potentially already be a skilled Legilimens, and he quickly tore his gaze from Riddle's.

"I did kill one." Harry swallowed, wondering how much of the truth he would tell them. Most definitely, he would _not_ mention the Chamber, even if it _would_ bring Tom to reveal whether or not he knew its location. "When I was a bit younger. It was just luck, is all."

Avery took a half step closer to him, his expression one of pure, unadulterated excitement. "But how?!" he exclaimed quietly. "You can't look at one without being killed, much less maimed for it!"

“It was blind,” Harry said, feeling helpless against the machinations of the Slytherins. “A, uh- a bird ate its eyes.”

 _“Ate its eyes?”_ Riddle echoed, sounding disbelieving. “What kind of bird? How was it not killed itself?”

“Dunno,” Harry lied with a shrug, turning back to his open trunk. He began to pull out the clothes he’d taken from the Room of Requirement, to be set in his wardrobe. “I didn’t get a good look at it.” Carefully, so that none of the others would see, he moved his invisibility cloak to the side, then turned his attention back to the others.

“So how did you kill it then?” Lucian asked quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. His expression was impassive, an eyebrow cocked curiously. “A curse? I thought basilisks were immune to magic?”

“They are,” Riddle confirmed, nodding. “The only weak spots are thought to be its eyes and mouth, but even that isn’t confirmed.”

“I- er- I ran sword through it,” Harry admitted slowly, wondering if it was really the best idea to be telling them this.

Riddle lifted his head in interest much like a snake would, and Harry had to fight the insane urge to laugh at the absurdity of it.

“You _ran a sword through it?”_ he repeated dubiously, his eyes flickering with some unknown emotion. “And pray tell, how did you manage that without killing yourself? You’d have surely been crushed if it were near the heart, and too near the mouth by its neck.”

“It was dumb luck,” Harry insisted, averting his gaze.

“Mmhmm,” Tom hummed, but it was painfully obvious that he didn’t believe him.

“Wicked!” Avery breathed, an excited gleam in his eyes. “What else can you do?”

Harry shifted uneasily, feeling a hot flush creep its way up his neck. “I’m _not_ special,” he insisted, though he knew it was futile. _Why_ hadn’t he just told them he didn’t want to talk about it? Better yet, he could have even added on that it was how his parents had died, given them a good reason not to pester him about it.

Avery opened his mouth to speak again, no doubt to protest that statement, but Lucian piped up before he could.

 _“Ben,_ leave off it,” he warned lowly, his eyes flickering once to Harry before shifting to Avery. “Both of you, you’re making him uncomfortable.”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed momentarily, then he nodded tersely. “Apologies,” he murmured smoothly. “For both Benjamin and myself; we were merely curious.”

“Apology accepted,” Harry muttered with a begrudgingly thankful nod toward Lucian.

He turned back to his half-unpacked trunk as Lucian calmly started a conversation about some Arithmancy assignment he shared with Tom. Most of his clothes were sorted and ready to be put into his wardrobe, and after that, all he’d really need to do was put his spare quills, inkwells, and parchment into the nightstand beside his bed. Without a doubt, his books would also be staying locked away in his trunk, along with the invisibility cloak and Marauder’s Map.

Over the next hour as Harry quietly rearranged his small part of the dorm room that would be his to call 'home' over the next while, Riddle's and Lucian's conversation lulled from the subject of homework and went on to when the next Hogsmeade visit would be, Avery piping up with an exclamation of how they'd need to make plans for that very evening.

"Technically Lestrange is of age anyway and so long as we go to the right places, nobody should have an issue selling to us," he was saying excitedly, gesticulating theatrically.

"And therein lies the problem," Riddle replied dryly, rolling his eyes. "The only worthy places are down Knockturn, and you and I both know they don't accept patronage from Hogwarts students- _especially_ not during the school year."

"Are you guys planning a party?" Harry found himself piping up in surprise. It was the only logical conclusion he could come to, but not one that was easy to imagine.

Of all the things he'd thought about the young Voldemort and his henchmen, the word 'normal' had never once come to mind. Because surely, his mind had always supplied, _surely_ they weren't?

He'd come to the past, expecting to have to save some poor student from getting tortured by Riddle and his friends at least once, and instead he was met with the prospect of them behaving rather like his own dorm mates in Gryffindor and, of all things, planning an illicit party.

He didn't quite know how to wrap his mind around that.

"We are," Avery replied slowly, glancing at Riddle as if asking permission. Which, normal or not, he probably was. "Kind of, anyway. In a couple of weeks, after Hogsmeade."

"It's to officially welcome you to the House," Lucian added slowly, even though none of them had even mentioned his alias thus far. "Of course, if we can make it happen."

"But chances of that are pretty high-"

 _"Unfortunately,"_ Tom muttered wryly.

"-and so it probably will," Avery finished, giving Harry a bright grin. "And not here, of course. We have a special place we like to go to, the few times we _do_ throw parties."

"You realize this is probably giving him the wrong impression of us?" Riddle drawled, rolling his eyes. Sometime while Harry had been distracted (surely a bad thing to be, around a teenage Voldemort), he had rolled onto his back, and was now fixing Harry with a Look, his lips curled into an upside-down smirk as his head hung off the bed.

Harry didn't have it in him to warn Riddle that all the blood was going to rush to his head if he did that. If he died from it, that was his own fault.

His mind crossed over to the 'special place' Avery had mentioned, and briefly he wondered if it was the Chamber of Secrets. True, it hadn't looked much like a place for partying back when he was in second year, but fifty-three years at least had passed since it had last been in use.

"You want to throw me a welcoming party?" he repeated, feeling oddly touched by the sentiment. "I, er- thanks. No one's ever done that before."

True, his friends had made a few attempts at throwing him a birthday party the few times he’d been at the burrow for it, but there’d never been one just to celebrate the fact that he was _there._

“I can’t imagine anyone would, really,” Tom commented offhandedly, instantly deflating his good mood. “Besides the occasional one on your travels around the continent.” He smiled saccharinely, and Harry had to bite back the hex on the tip of his tongue.

“Right,” he agreed slowly instead, nodding as Avery loudly declared that it would change next weekend for sure.

Even though he knew he should be on his guard, that this mission was dangerous no matter _how_ nice the Slytherins were to him, Harry oddly found himself kind of looking forward to it.

He cast a quick _Tempus_ and was almost surprised to find that it was close to ten. A decent time, he supposed, to go to sleep, considering that the next day would be Saturday in his time.

“I think I’m ready for bed now,” he announced, closing his trunk and warding it with an air of finality. “I’m absolutely knackered.”

“Of course,” Lucian readily agreed, standing up straighter. “It’s about time for you to go do your prefect patrol anyway Tom.”

Riddle gave Nott a single nod of acknowledgment and got to his feet in one fluid motion. “Come, Benjamin,” he said authoritatively, his tone noticeably cooler. “We should leave him in peace for now. You need to work on revising that essay for Professor Merrythought anyway.”

“Defense professor,” Avery told Harry cheerfully, by way of explanation. He gave him a quick wave before opening the room’s door so the other two could exit with him. “Have a good night!”

Lucian dipped his head respectfully toward him, echoing Avery’s sentiments in his quiet tone.

Tom gave Harry one final lingering look through half-lidded eyes. “Sleep well,” he murmured, his lips curling upward ever so slightly in a mocking fashion. “Pleasant dreams, Hadrian.”

Unbidden, a shiver tingled down Harry’s spine.

While he undressed and prepared for bed, he willed himself not to think about where and when he was, instead running through his mind what all classwork he had waiting for him in the future- present again? Future-present, then-.

A couple of essays for sure, and Hermione had mentioned that it’d be a good idea to work on nonverbal spells and begin revising for exam time while they were at it.

Even as he was pulling the jade hangings around his bed shut though, images of Riddle’s stare kept coming back to the forefront of his thoughts. It was full of intensity and something _more_ that had Harry on edge almost the entire time, and despite the presence of his other two new dorm mates, he was pretty sure he’d been the only one affected by it.

Tom Riddle knew how to be charming, he had to admit that much. His inner circle were probably all too far gone to notice anything amiss, and if Harry hadn’t known better before ever entering the past, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have been pulled right into the young dark lord’s sphere of influence himself.

He _did_ know better though, and he made the silent vow that he wouldn’t allow himself to fall for any of it. No matter what, he was going to come out of the mission with success, and as himself.

He wouldn’t accept anything less.


	3. A Single Glance is All it Takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! Sorry this wasn't posted sooner, I had some edits to make that I really struggled with and whatnot, not to mention the challenge of Nanowrimo this month ;____;  
> Another note- Sorry for everyone whose comments I never responded to! I meant to, I really really did, and then I waited too long and thought to myself that it was rude to let it go on for so long without a response and what if people are mad by that, and then it *never* gets responded to just because the cycle of that thought kinda repeats. Sorry I'm such a failure in that regard *_*  
> Everyone's comments were really uplifting though, and I truly appreciate every single one of them. I'll try much harder from now on to get back to you guys in a timely manner <3
> 
> Many thanks to darklordtomarry and TheLastNero for betaing this chapter for me!!!!!! Your help was absolutely _invaluable_ and I cannot thank you enough!

Hadrian Peverell… was an odd person, Tom mused as he swished his wand _just so_ and nonverbally made the feather in front of him shrink down until it was almost invisible.

Even excluding the circumstances of him even _being_ here, there was just something… _off_ about him.

The first and most obvious case was his magical aura. It about matched the core size that someone of his lineage _should_ expect to see, but it fluctuated between the soothing blue Tom had come to associate with Light wizards and something much, _much_ darker.

And then there was that _scar…_

Tom set down his wand and pretended to focus his attention back onto his NEWT-preparatory textbook, even flicking through a few of the pages for effect. In reality, he kept his head down and examined Peverell through hooded eyes.

He had failed to say much about the scar the night previous when Tom had asked him about it, only uttering a clipped ‘curse mark’ before pinning Tom with a hard stare that seemed to look into his soul.

It was understandable that he wouldn’t want to talk about it, Tom had had to concede later when he was getting ready for bed. To have a curse wound for anywhere _near_ as long as Peverell had hinted at _had_ to be somewhat of a burden to live with, but _still._

That fact _alone_ only made him more curious.

Where had he gotten it? What curse was used? It didn’t look like the result of anything Tom had ever studied himself (or used, for that matter), which meant that it was something _foreign,_ something _new._

Tom couldn’t _wait_ to learn it.

What were the properties of the curse mark? Was its shape significant somehow, indicative of the spell used? What kind of curse could it have been anyway, to even _leave_ a mark like that?

Peverell’s scar looked fresh, like he’d only gotten it recently. He’d _said_ that he’d had it since he was a baby, but could he have been lying?

It was plausible, Tom thought, beginning to sketch the contours of the lightning that marred Peverell’s forehead onto the parchment he was using for notes. After all, if the scar was recent, perhaps he was lying to avoid thinking about it. He could even be suffering from trauma.

Tom curled his upper lip in disgust at the very thought of it, at the memory of the way Hadrian’s face had drained of color when Tom had pushed his bangs back and traced it with a finger.

If trauma was the case, Peverell could get over it. He wasn’t the only one suffering from horrific reminders of the past, and nobody else in Slytherin would dare showcase their emotions as openly as he did. It left one open for judgment and ridicule, showed _weakness_ where none could be afforded.

What _really_ intrigued Tom about Peverell’s curse mark, however, was the pull he’d felt toward it. It was like the scar had a magic all by itself, magic that was somehow compatible with Tom’s own; he could sense it when he got close to him.

And wasn’t _that_ something?

The scar was the source of the magic fluctuations within Peverell, that much Tom knew for a fact. It was the only explanation he could think of that sounded sensible. After all, dark curses tended to leave a taint on the soul, so it would make sense if Peverell was a Light wizard and had been cursed.

Yes, Tom decided, flicking through another few pages, that was it. Another thought struck, and his lips curled upward in amusement.

How would Peverell react if Tom told him that he wanted to study the mark? Most certainly, he would be on his guard at the very least, though Tom couldn’t figure out for the life of him _why._

What if he lied, told Peverell that he might be able to find a cure for it?

Tom thought about it for a moment. Hadrian Peverell was an intriguing person thus far, there was no doubt about that. He was far too comfortable with everything for being a new student, and the way he’d scrutinized Tom on his first day…

It was unsettling.

He suspected, that much Tom could tell by the coldness in his gaze. The only problem was, he wasn’t even sure what there was _to_ suspect. Perhaps he knew about the Knights, though that was supposed to be a heavily guarded secret.

Tom gritted his teeth in a mixture of frustration and anger. If Peverell _did_ know about the Knights, if one of his _most trusted_ had spilled the secret to someone outside of their group, there would be _hell_ to pay.

But no, Tom mused, inhaling deeply and then exhaling slowly. That couldn’t have happened, he would _know_ if he had been betrayed, no matter who it was.

It was something else then, he decided, glancing up and around the room to see what the rest of his dunderhead classmates were up to. Most of them were struggling to master the shrinking charm nonverbally whereas Tom had succeeded on his first try _two_ lessons ago, and he resisted the urge to let loose an undignified snort as his eyes sought out Peverell.

Three rows down, two seats to the left. Peverell had chosen to sit with Avery despite the fact that Tom had saved him a seat, and, for a moment, he wondered if perhaps Peverell’s aversion was to him alone. Just after the thought passed, he corrected it.

He _knew_ Peverell held a strong dislike for him, he just didn’t know _why._ He had only been there two days; there wasn’t enough _time_ for Tom to do something to make him loathe him as much as he’d seemed to since the moment they met.

Perhaps he would question Peverell on it later, see if he couldn’t get down to the bottom of things, Tom decided, looking back down at his notes.

Naturally, they were a mess of hasty scribbles, thoughts, and the occasional sketch of whatever Tom felt like drawing. Weaving through words he’d already written was the lightning bolt scar, accompanied by the rest of Peverell’s face sketched around the rest of his notes.

As Tom's eyes roved over the jagged, yet graceful lines of lightning and to eyes that pierced his soul even in ink form, his mind turned to the possibility of recruiting Peverell for his Knights.

The idea was solid, but for the first time in years, Tom wasn't so sure that the execution of it would be. It both frustrated and excited him, the unsureness that surrounded absolutely everything about Peverell.

Tom was certain that he could charm Peverell into following him, he _was,_ but...

He wasn't. And that was really too bad for him, because he _wanted_ Peverell to follow him, more so than he'd ever wanted anyone else's loyalty in his life.

The thing about Peverell was that he had the makings of a formidable opponent, even for someone as gifted as himself. His magical core, despite its inherent _lightness,_ had potential to become something greater, something _more._ He was a decent wizard, albeit a bit lazier than Tom would prefer when it came to schoolwork, but that was something he could come to accept.

Peverell's work in the classroom, though, left little to be desired. True, defense was only theoretical so far, but his _true_ aptitude would be tested on Friday. Herbology was, quite frankly, a mess, but that was something Tom expected and didn't really care about.

What captured Tom's interest the most was Peverell's practical potions work.

It was flawless, all of it. Even better than his own, actually, and he considered himself something of a prodigy when it came to prepping and brewing.

Peverell had this certain _flair_ for how he did things though, looking at the textbook but ignoring its instructions all the time. Where it said to cut, Peverell crushed instead; when they were supposed to stir in one specific direction _only_ (Tom had checked, multiple times), Peverell stirred sporadically and added in opposing stirs at different times.

It was utterly maddening, and perhaps a bit genius.

Tom _wanted._

Problem was, Hadrian Peverell didn't want him back.

Tom sighed inaudibly, shifting to prop his chin up under one fist.

While it was true that Peverell would make the _perfect_ potions master for him, was he worth it? After all, Tom had more than just impeccable potions work to think about here, the first and foremost point being his goal.

If Peverell didn't agree with Grindelwald's views, how would he react to hearing Tom's own? It was a risk, all of it. If he told Peverell, and the teen didn't agree to join, there was every chance he could rat the Knights out to Headmaster Dippet, or worse, Dumbledore. While it was true that Tom could always _Obliviate_ him in the worst case scenario, memory charms could always, _always_ be surpassed.

But what if he agreed?

Tom pondered this thought as he started a new sketch, this one of the way Peverell's face had looked as he slept last night (not that he was watching him, or anything).

In the chance that Peverell _did_ somehow decide to join his Knights, there was a lot to gain. His magical strength, for one, and his potions mastery for another. While Tom could always brew his own, the quality wouldn't be as good, as much as he hated to admit it. Not to mention, he wouldn't have the _time_ once his plans began to be set in motion and he was the defense professor.

He sighed, glancing up to look at the Slytherin in question, his eyes narrowing as he watched the boy attempt to nonverbally shrink his feather.

Peverell's shoulders were tense, indicating obvious frustration. Next to him, Avery seemed to be having less problems with the spell, and his magical core was hardly three-fourths the size Peverell's was.

_So he's stressed then,_ Tom noted, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. _What about? He's doing fine on schoolwork, and there's no need to be so high-strung over a measly little charm._

Perhaps, he mused, he should move seats. There was an open spot behind Peverell and though Tom had never been one much for socializing during class, perhaps he could make an exception this once to find out what was on Peverell's mind.

Of course, there was also the added bonus of being able to show off his own spellwork under the facade of giving a helpful demonstration, but only his Knights would know something like that, and they would never tell.

His mind made up, Tom quietly gathered his books and set them in his rucksack, then picked up the bag and his feather and made his way down a couple of rows.

"Hello there Ben, Hadrian," he greeted in a low murmur, setting the feather down on the table and his bag to his right. There was no need for anyone _else_ to join them, after all.

Avery looked up and gave him a quick smile and nod, before going back to his feather. "'Lo, Tom. It's about time you joined us lowly commoners."

Tom ignored this, in favor of observing Peverell. The boy's stance had become even _more_ impossibly tense the moment he had spoken, and a quick glance down showed that his wand was shaking slightly.

Odd.

"I was wondering how you were both faring on making your feathers shrink." Tom turned his attention back to Avery for a moment, before settling it on the two of them. "I notice you seem to be doing fine, Ben, although you're not putting enough will into the spell. How about you, Hadrian? You're rather quiet today."

Hadrian sighed deeply, his shoulders relaxing, before he set his wand down on the desk and turned to face Tom.

Now _that_ was more like it, Tom thought appreciatively, ignoring the iciness in Peverell's eyes. What mattered was that Peverell's attention was on him now, instead of the damned feather.

"I haven't gotten it yet," Peverell answered curtly, foregoing any kind of greeting.

That was fine. Tom would instill that in him later, once he'd decided if recruiting him was worth it or not. Come to think of it, he should probably consult Rosier on it first, see if he knew anything important about Peverell.

"What seems to be the issue?" Tom questioned, leaning forward in an inquisitive manner. It would reinforce the idea that they were friends, and simultaneously give Peverell more compulsion to tell him. "It's not _such_ a difficult spell to do it nonverbally, is it?"

"Not all of us can be geniuses like you," Peverell retorted, something like anger sparking in his too-green eyes. "What do you _really_ want, Riddle? I know you have an actual reason for coming over here."

Tom shifted his expression to a hurt one, hoping that it would be enough to get under Peverell's skin. Ordinarily it would work on everyone else, but he was quickly coming to find that Hadrian Peverell didn't quite fit into the category of 'everyone'.

"I was hoping I could be of help," Tom murmured smoothly, leaning back some. "I didn't realize it was a crime; forgive me."

Peverell's eyes narrowed, and Tom knew that his plan, in fact, _hadn't_ worked.

How utterly troublesome, and completely predictable.

"I'm doing just fine, thanks."

"Clearly you're not," Tom pointed out, gesturing to Peverell's still large feather. "Which is odd, considering the size of your magical core. Spells like this - even nonverbal - should be no problem for you."

As he spoke, he took the chance to study Hadrian Peverell more carefully. The boy's raven-coloured hair was messier than usual, which was saying something, and his eyes were dull despite the fire that sparked in them.

Tom's mouth quirked into a half-frown in thought. Was he sick?

"Are you okay?" he chose to ask. "You don't look very well, Hadrian."

"I'm fine," Peverell said through gritted teeth, turning his attention back onto the feather. "Leave me alone, Riddle."

An eyebrow raised condescendingly. "Fine?" he questioned, his tone shifting to one of challenge. "Alright then, do the spell. As I was saying before, someone with your magical strength should have no issue with it."

He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest in irritation. He hadn't planned on Peverell being quite _this_ insolent at an offer for help, and the fact that he'd refused at all was troubling.

Just _why_ was he like this? Tom had never had this issue with anyone else before, that they refused an offer from him, or didn't like him; anyone else but Albus Dumbledore, that is.

He scowled, connecting the dots. Hadrian Peverell was clearly in league with Dumbledore, and this entire thing was some kind of a plot to unmask him.

But why go through the trouble of bringing in some homeschooled kid for the task? Everyone _knew_ he didn't get along very well with Dumbledore- it wasn't that big a secret.

It had to be because Dumbledore knew none of his classmates would ever betray him, Tom decided, bringing his arms down to rest on his lap. So therefore, he'd obviously need to bring in someone from _his_ crowd to infiltrate the house and get dirt on him, and then frustrate him enough to humiliate himself in public.

Well. Tom would just have to make sure that it didn't work, then.

He turned his focus back to Peverell to find that the teen's face was screwed in concentration, sweat beading on his brow. The feather was still the same size, despite his efforts. Tom's gaze flicked once to the lightning scar, then down to Peverell's wand hand. It still shook, and even though the motions were correct, they were too slow, too clumsy.

"Here," Tom murmured, breaking Peverell's concentration. He reached forward and took the teen's feather, holding it up for both Peverell and Avery (who had also looked up) to see. "Allow me to demonstrate."

He concentrated and swished his wand in a single precise movement, and the feather shrunk slowly in result. Feeling satisfied with himself, he gave both housemates a charming smile before unshrinking the feather and setting it back down on Peverell's desk.

"It's really not that difficult," Tom boasted under the facade of an explanation. "I think what your problem might be is that you're focusing on the spell _too_ much, and moving too slowly. It's understandable, really, you don't look your best today. Perhaps you should get some rest before Transfiguration?"

"Sounds like a plan!" Avery agreed readily, setting his wand down. Peverell only grimaced, and now that Tom was giving him a fourth look, he noticed the slight discoloration under his emerald eyes, the almost indiscernible lines that accompanied it.

"Did you sleep well, last night?" he asked, frowning. He could have sworn that Peverell had, in fact, gotten a good rest. He'd been out like a light and hadn't stirred once, even when Mulciber and Nott had come in after curfew, chattering loudly and causing a ruckus.

His appearance, on the other hand...

Hm. Odd.

"I slept fine," Peverell responded tersely, following Avery's motion and setting his wand down on the table. "And no, I don't need a nap."

"The bags under your eyes state otherwise," Tom retorted quietly. "Some sleep would do you good, Hadrian."

"He's right you know," Avery added. "If you'd like, you can nap with me. Friends who sleep together have better bonds anyway."

Tom rolled his eyes at the statement. "That's never been proven," he stated. "And if you're trying to get him to sleep with you, it would be advisable to try another tactic."

"I _don't_ need a nap!" Peverell snapped, leveling them both with a glare. "Now quit bothering me about it; I'm perfectly fine."

"Fine," Avery conceded, holding his hands up in defeat.

Tom wasn't so easily swayed. "You clearly aren't," he pressed, leaning forward once more. "Hadrian, you look _exhausted."_

"I. Am. _Fine,"_ Hadrian hissed, through gritted teeth.

Tom opened his mouth to insist once more, but was cut off by Professor Ellis announcing the end of class. Peverell and Avery both quickly gathered their things, though for very different reasons. Tom calmly put what little he'd taken out into his rucksack and stood, slinging it over one shoulder.

"Alright then," Tom allowed himself to acquiesce. "During break then, we should do homework. It's unbecoming to let it wait for too long."

"You mean it's not already done?" Avery teased good naturedly as they exited the classroom.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Would you like my help or not?"

"What I _meant_ to say, my liege, is that I could only _wish_ I got my work done as fast as you do," Avery amended, giving him a bright smile.

"Hm," he responded with a smirk.

"Do you _really_ make him call you that?" Peverell piped up incredulously. His tone also held a note of fury in it, though only someone as perceptive as Tom was would be able to detect it.

"Of course not," Tom replied mildly. "He does it because he wants to; I have no control over what my peers decide to nickname me."

“That’s not right though,” Hadrian argued, annoyance clear in his expression. “You shouldn’t treat your friends like this Tom, they’re their own people.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed and he resisted the urge to scoff in disbelief. They were still in public, after all, and it wouldn’t do for him to be the cause of even _more_ attention being drawn to them than the amount Hadrian had already gathered. “Did I say they weren’t?” he asked quietly. “Let me reiterate in the hopes that this might sink into your mind a bit better this time: what anyone decides to call me is _up to them.”_

“I call bullocks, you and I both know you can’t stand it when you’re not in control.”

At this point, Tom was almost ready to scream in frustration. Hadrian’s reasonings made _no sense,_ and his points were completely invalid. Well- except for the part where Tom hated not being in control, but he wasn’t about to admit that to _anyone._

Avery, sensing Tom’s disposition, jumped in before either of them could say anything else. “Hey there,” he soothed, shooting Tom a bewildered glance as he laid a hand on Peverell’s shoulder. “It was just a joke, mate, no need to read into it like that.”

"Just a joke, _my arse,"_ Hadrian muttered, but he did let the subject drop and the trio walked back to the dungeons in silence.

"I call the spot next to the fire!" Avery said cheerfully the moment they entered the common room.

"Then I call the other one," Peverell muttered, stalking over to the armchairs in question. "That leaves you the odd man out, Riddle!" he called over his shoulder, not sparing Tom a single glance.

He should not have been as irritated as he was by that. He refused to let it show, however, and instead followed them over to the fireplace.

"It doesn't matter either way to me," he murmured, smirking when both Avery and Peverell looked at him curiously. Good. He liked it when the attention was focused on him. Brandishing his wand in an admittedly more dramatic than necessary manner, he wordlessly conjured a third armchair, facing the fireplace directly.

"Now, shall we begin?"

Avery nodded quickly, his eyes lit up by Tom's show of skill, and he was disappointed to find that Peverell's demeanor wasn't similar in the slightest.

A pity. He'd just have to find something else to ensnare Peverell's attention.

They all got to work on the homework they'd been assigned so far, which wasn't much - a chapter to read for defense, three feet over Golpalott's Third Law in potions, and charms was homework-free for that day. Most likely, it was because of his peers' pitiful performance at mastering the shrinking charm nonverbally.

The work itself was easy going. They started on defense, with Tom jotting down notes as he went and carefully marking which pages and paragraphs would be useful for future exams and the NEWTs that would occur next year. Avery would ask him a question every once in a while, and he'd already promised to share his notes with him.

Hadrian Peverell was disturbingly silent.

Once Tom was finished reading the chapter, he switched out books and began research for his essay. Not that he even _needed_ it, technically, but still. It was smart to make sure he had all the facts right before starting.

A soft snore sometime later made Tom look up from his work to find that Peverell had slumped in his chair and was sleeping, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. He smirked in triumph.

"So much for not needing the rest," Avery murmured mischievously, catching Tom's eye.

"You did something to him," Tom noted with a questioning lilt to his tone. Avery shook his head, and his eyebrows furrowed. "He fell asleep on his own, then."

"I don't see why you're so surprised," Avery commented. "You had a fair point there, Hadrian looked _terrible."_

"Don't you think him odd?" Tom asked in a soft tone, his eyes moving to Peverell's scar. "How he acts as if I'm some horrible person?"

Avery chuckled. "You probably are, in some people's eyes." Tom shot him a small glare, and he quickly backtracked. "They just don't understand, though. And he might not yet, either."

"He acts like he knows far more than he should though," Tom murmured thoughtfully. "Like…”

"Like Cassius does?" Avery supplied knowingly. "Yeah, I caught onto that myself. You don't think he's a Seer, do you?"

"It's hard to tell," Tom mused. "A part of me is sure that this is all some kind of scheme Dumbledore cooked up."

"I highly doubt it," Avery said, closing his defense book and setting it down on the side table. "The fool is smart, yeah, but not _that_ smart. Plus, he has no conviction on anything we've done."

"We haven't even done anything," Tom protested, his tone low. "Yet. He's planning to stop me, though, and I don't know why."

"Perhaps it's because you fools talk about this kind of thing in the open," came the drawling voice of Rosier from behind him. Tom looked up and over his shoulder to find Cassius resting his head in his arms, which were crossed over the top of his chair. How he'd known it was there, Tom could never figure out.

"Hello Cassius," he greeted, closing his potions book and setting it down on the table. "Is divination over already?"

Cassius nodded. "You wanted to talk to me, Tom?" he prompted.

Tom grinned wryly. "You know me too well."

"We should go up to your room then," Cassius murmured. "Stay here, Benjamin, and keep Hadrian company."

"Will do," Avery replied, mock saluting as Tom stood.

He and Rosier left the common room silently, Tom placing a hand on Rosier's elbow out of habit when they reached the stairs.

“I know these stairs like the back of my hand,” Cassius chided gently, turning his head and fixing him with a small smile. “So while your help is appreciated, it is certainly not needed.”

Tom dipped his head in acknowledgment, letting his hand fall back down to his side. “My apologies,” he murmured in a placating tone. “Force of habit.”

“I know,” Cassius hummed.

The walk down to Tom’s room was short and, thankfully, silent. Rosier knew Tom wouldn’t say anything about what he wanted to talk about until they were in his room, and so thus, he wouldn’t either.

“You have questions about Peverell,” Cassius murmured the moment they were behind both a locked door and the strongest privacy ward Tom could configure.

“I do,” Tom answered neutrally, watching carefully as Rosier made his way over to _his_ bed and laid down, stretching himself out leisurely. Tom rolled his eyes and leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you know anything about him?”

“You mean that I can tell you?” Cassius paused for a moment. “He is not who he says,” he continued after a moment of thought. “But I don’t believe you need to be worried about it. He is not a minion of Dumbledore’s.”

Tom nodded, inhaling deeply in relief. “Okay. Is there anything else you’ve learned about him?”

“Of course.” Cassius turned to look right at him, and Tom shuddered at the way his sightless pale-green eyes managed to stare right into his own. “But to tell you or not is the question, my lord.”

Tom immediately stood up straighter, drawing out his wand. He opened his mouth to demand that Rosier tell him whatever he was hiding or be cursed, but the fifth year spoke before he could.

“Relax, my lord,” he chuckled, closing his eyes serenely. “My loyalties have not wavered. Merely, what I have to say is of no threat to you.”

Tom _did_ relax, but only slightly. “You’ll notify me at the first hint of trouble?”

“Of course,” Rosier vowed, but they both knew his words held little promise.

Not that Tom could _really_ fault him for it, as much as he wanted to. He understood that Seers had to have _some_ amount of secrecy, because it didn’t bode well for normal people to know too much about the future, for the risk of them changing the course of fate. It was a mercy little others ever granted Rosier, and in return, Cassius vowed that he would be loyal to Tom in his mission, and his best interests.

“I think that what you really need to do is stop trying to gain Hadrian’s favor,” Cassius started slowly after a measured pause. “He knows it’s insincere, and so it doesn’t mean anything to him.”

“You think I shouldn’t recruit him to the Knights,” Tom assumed, his expression impassive.

“I did not say that,” Rosier replied simply. “Just that your methods are ineffective. You need to let him in for him to be of any value to you.”

Tom frowned. Let someone else _in,_ much less a student he barely _knew?_ Was such a thing even _possible?_

“I promise on my Sight,” Cassius vowed. “Hadrian is working toward your best interests, as am I.”

Slowly, Tom nodded, keeping his gaze locked with Rosier’s. Cassius didn’t waver for a moment, as Tom knew someone that dared lie to him would. “I will… try to do that,” he said finally, pushing off the wall with one foot.

Cassius gave him a slow, mischievous smile, sitting up and getting to his feet. “Brilliant,” he chirped. “You do that, and in the meantime, it’s time to go. Sit with Hadrian in Bumblefool’s class, yeah?”

Tom nodded again and they made their way back up to the common room in silence once more. Cassius headed off to go hang out with Dolohov and Malfoy, and Tom headed over to the fireplace. Avery was already waiting for them, his bag slung over his shoulder. Peverell was blinking dazedly and stretching, his things still strewn about.

Tom smirked. “Have a nice nap?” he asked, his tone mildly taunting. Rosier had told him that flattery wasn’t the way to go, so he’d do the opposite instead.

Peverell blushed, and Tom took a moment to appreciate the way the pink tinge complimented his dark skin. It was...nice. “Bugger off,” he muttered, gathering his things haphazardly and shoving them in his bag.

“We have Transfiguration with Professor Dumbledore next,” Tom informed him, sneering as he said Dumbledore’s name. “I would like to sit with you.”

An eyebrow raised. “And if I decide I want to work with Mulciber instead?” Peverell challenged.

Avery barked out a harsh laugh at that. “You hate Mulciber,” he scoffed. “Just partner with Tom, yeah? The sooner you agree, the sooner he’ll quit pestering you about it.”

Peverell shifted uncomfortably, and it pleased Tom that he could inspire such an emotion. “What’s your game?” he asked lowly, his jaw set.

Tom regarded him with a bored expression, though the intellect in him was curious to know the reason behind Peverell’s every word, his every reaction. “No game, Peverell,” he drawled. “I just want a chance to get to know you better.”

Peverell snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bullocks.”

Silence. Tom blinked a few times, taken aback by his blatant (and _crude)_ dismissal. He pondered his next move carefully, wondering which method would be more effective, a silent hex or an attempt to reach out.

He decided on the second option. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” he began smoothly. “I would like your friendship, Peverell, and I can assure you that I will go through the steps necessary to obtain it.”

“Really?” Peverell asked, his tone light in disbelief. “Try this then- change your career path, you bloody git.” With that, he picked up his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder, then strode past him and out of the common room.

Tom stood there for a good moment, his mouth open slightly in surprise and his expression just as confused as Avery’s. “Change my career path?” he muttered in wonder. “But what does that…?”

“He’s really got it out for you mate,” Avery murmured, recovering from his shock and heading toward the common room entrance. Tom followed, nodding once.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

 

 

Despite Peverell’s abrasion toward Tom, he didn’t protest when he and Avery joined him in Transfiguration, Tom setting his things down in the spot to Peverell’s left.

“I was sincere, you know,” he informed quietly, taking his seat. “And I cannot fathom what you could find wrong with teaching.”

Peverell ignored him. Tom sighed, taking out his book and flipping it to the chapter the rest of the class was working on, despite the fact that he’d mastered it _last_ year.

It was whatever, though. He wasn’t in the mood to argue with Dumbledore on _that_ subject today.

“Aren’t you guys past that by now?” Peverell voiced, sounding confused. Tom glanced over at him to see that he was staring quizzically at the book.

“One would _think,”_ he replied silkily. “Dumbledore moves slowly once you’re past OWLs. We’ll move on to NEWT material next year.”

“But…” Peverell trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “That’s not- our skills should be beyond that by now.”

“Yeah, well.” Tom fell quiet as Dumbledore himself walked into the classroom. The rest of the class did too, but it was more out of awe and slight fear of the man’s magical prowess.

Bloody Gryffindors.

He leaned over slightly to continue what he had been saying. “That’s not going to happen until-”

“McGonagall!” Peverell exclaimed in surprise and delight, cutting him off.

Tom huffed in irritation. Later on, Peverell would get a good talking to on the importance of _manners._

The student in question, one Minerva McGonagall, paused on her way over to the Gryffindor side of the room and regarded Peverell curiously, eyebrows raising. “Yes? You’re the new student right?”

“O-oh, I-” Hadrian stumbled in his speech, blushing. He coughed once, deliberately. “I was just curious. You’re a prodigy at Transfiguration, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

_And where,_ Tom wondered curiously as McGonagall drew herself up proudly, _did you hear about_ **_that?_ **

“That’s right,” McGonagall confirmed. “I’m hoping to be a Master someday.”

“You’d make a good teacher,” Peverell complimented. “I think you should pursue it after you graduate.”

McGonagall looked both surprised and pleased at this. “I’ll consider it,” she told them, then continued on her way to sit with her friends.

“So _she_ can be a teacher, but you presume I’d be horrible at it?” Tom muttered darkly under his breath, glaring.

“I presume you don’t have the right _motivation_ behind it,” Peverell hissed back as class began.

They were set to work on changing a box into a live turtle, work that they had done _last_ year that Dumbledore felt that they hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet.

Tom sneered. Doddering fool.

He idly watched the rest of the class work, waiting until Dumbledore came up to his and Peverell’s and Avery’s table to demonstrate the transfiguration - wordlessly, unlike everyone else.

“Wonderful job Mr. Peverell!” Dumbledore complimented, beaming. Tom glanced over to see that Peverell _had_ managed the transfiguration perfectly, but it only made sense if he was confused as to why they weren’t working on more advanced things.

“And what do you have to show me today, Mr. Riddle?” Dumbledore turned to face him then, his expression notably much more closed off, cold, even.

Tom shrugged it off. Sure, it _stung_ a little that the professor treated him so much differently from even his Slytherin peers, but he’d learned to get over it quickly years ago.

And now… well. Now Tom hated the old fool too much to really care anymore.

He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “You see, sir,” he started, reciting it _just_ as he had practiced,” we’ve been learning to do a lot of different incantations nonverbally, so I’ve been attempting to transfigure objects silently over the past few days.”

Without waiting for any kind of response, he pointed his wand at the box and concentrated on it shifting into a box turtle. Moments later, a perfect incarnation of the turtle was sitting before him, lifting its head and blinking its eyes sleepily.

“Indeed you have,” Dumbledore observed indifferently, barely sparing the turtle a second glance before he moved on.

Tom took in a deep breath, then released it slowly. He was not going to hex the professor, he _wasn’t._ Inhale...exhale.

Not giving his successful transfiguration another look, he changed it back into an inanimate box and moved on to doing his own thing, just as he did every lesson. He quietly closed his book and set it in his ever-expanded rucksack, then rummaged around in it for a book he’d nicked from the library’s restricted section the other day. He hummed in victory when he pulled out the right book on his first try, then leaned back in his seat and cracked it open.

_Magick Moste Evile,_ the book was called, although Tom had charmed the cover to look like something much more innocent. It was there that he had turned to in his quest for immortality, and there where he hoped to finally find an answer.

So far, it was disappointingly much less promising than he’d hoped.

“Hey,” Peverell whispered a few minutes later, and Tom looked up at him in surprise. So the boy was speaking to him now?

“Yes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is-” Peverell hesitated, and Tom noted that he looked particularly troubled. “Is he always like that?”

“The professor?” Tom went back to his reading, not in the mood to give Peverell any more direct attention. “You needn’t worry, he won’t treat you like that. He would have done it already, otherwise.”

“But-” Another hesitation. Not _so_ odd, granted that Peverell was new. “But he does? To you, I mean?”

“Take a leaf out of Avery’s book and keep your nose out of it,” Tom admonished curtly, flipping a page. “We just have a...history, shall I put it. Nothing you need to think anything of.”

Peverell took his advice and fell silent then, and Tom continued on.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the lesson.

 

 

Later on that evening, Peverell finally deigned to work on the homework he hadn’t gotten a chance to get to earlier, and Tom took the time to study him from afar.

“He’s rather interesting, isn’t he?” Cassius murmured quietly from his spot next to Tom. “You know, the two of you are a lot alike, my lord. Both orphans, both half-bloods. Your magical strengths are even similar.”

Tom was silent for a few minutes as he took the Seer’s words in, and processed the different reasons Rosier could have for bringing it up.

“This is why you want to me to reach out to him?” he questioned softly. “Just because we are alike does not mean anything special. He is nowhere near my level.”

Cassius shrugged. “You are both compatible,” he noted cryptically. “In more ways than you think.” He fell silent then, and Tom knew that he was done speaking for the night.

Rosier was just _like_ that, frustratingly enough. Because of his ability, he was less inclined to participate in Knight discussions unless Tom deliberately sought out his opinion, and he always said very little. Enough to guide, but not give anything away.

“What I don’t understand, my lord, is why we’re choosing to focus our attentions on him,” Antonin spoke up, quiet enough that the sound wouldn’t carry from beyond the privacy ward erected around where their group was seated in the library.

Tom’s lips quirked into a sardonic little smile. Ah, Dolohov. Always the first to speak up when there was doubt. It was a gift and a curse for him, depending on the mood Tom was in.

For now, he would let this one go. He didn’t expect his followers to understand his usually short-lived fixations, and this one would be no different.

“Peverell is an old family,” he said after a moment of contemplating just what all he would reveal to them. “Hadrian, by extension, is set to inherit a lot of prestige and wealth. He already has the power.”

“Plus, he’s bloody good at potions, isn’t he Tom?” Avery piped up.

He smirked, his fingers giving his wand a single gentle caress. “What are you implying, _Benjamin?”_ he asked, his tone saccharinely sweet. “You say that as if his skill is unparalleled.”

Avery’s gulp was audible. “No-nothing my lord,” he stammered. “Just that, he would be useful to us for it. Once our plans take off-”

“That is for _me_ to decide,” Tom interrupted coolly. Around the table, his followers shifted in both anticipation and discomfort. He looked upon them all with a frosty expression, not wanting to give them a sense of security just yet.

“Your insolence has gone unchecked as of late, Avery,” he went on. “One would think you had forgotten your place.”

Avery’s face paled at the insinuation behind his words. “No, my lord!” he whispered hoarsely, inclining his head in submission. “Never!”

“However.” Tom shifted his tone again to a slightly lighter one. “I have observed the same. Consider this your warning, Avery: I will forgive you _this time._ You would do well to think before you speak in the future.”

Avery nodded quickly, sighing with relief. “Yes, my lord, thank you.”

Beside him, Rosier giggled a split second before Tom flicked his wand and cast out Avery’s punishment - a wordless _Crucio_ that was barely enough to cause more than a high pitched yelp.

Perhaps a stinging hex would have been better and certainly more _legal,_ but it wouldn’t have carried out the effects Tom wanted this punishment to have. His Cruciatus would settle deep in Avery’s bones and be felt for hours to come, a worthy reminder of what happened to those that dared to forget exactly _who_ was running things.

“Thank you, my lord,” Avery murmured, wrapping his arms around himself and casting his gaze down to the mahogany table.

“My lord?” Arella Parkinson began hesitantly. “Thinking of, what _is_ our objective at the moment? Is there anything you would like us to do?”

Tom considered this for a moment. School months were always the hardest on them all, simply due to the fact that there was little they could do toward their cause.

“You are interested in being a writer, yes?” he asked slowly, thinking. Parkinson tended to prattle on to the other girls in their house about how she someday wanted to be the top journalist for the Daily Prophet, and now she would be given the opportunity to fine-tune her skills.

Arella nodded, drawing herself up importantly. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the patheticness of it all. Connections were important, and the Parkinson family would be a valuable one to have under his belt, even if not as intimately as others, like the Blacks.

Females made better allies than they did Knights anyway. They were too soft, too attached, to be able to do whatever was necessary for the cause.

_Too emotional,_ Tom added mentally, recalling how Arella had worked herself into a state last week when a classmate that had been supposedly vying for her attention rejected her when she asked him to accompany her on the next Hogsmeade trip - it hadn’t been a pretty sight, and even the memory of it made Tom want to Obliviate himself.

No, females were _not_ Knight material.

“Here is your task,” Tom went on. “I need you to pose as different witches and wizards and submit articles to the Prophet telling of encounters with vicious muggles. We need a clear divide between _us_ and _them,_ and that won’t happen with just the support of the Sacred 28.”

“Of course, my lord,” Arella agreed easily, writing the instruction down on a sheet of parchment.

Tom’s upper lip curled. “And make sure you burn that at the soonest convenience,” he warned her. “You do _not_ want to find out what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands.”

Red blossomed across Parkinson’s face as she gave him another nod of agreement. “Yes, my lord, my apologies.” Her tone was more subdued, quiet - she was disappointed with herself.

“Easily forgiven,” Tom drawled, nodding in satisfaction at the little progress they’d made that day. “You’re all dismissed.” He didn’t give any further instruction - his _true_ Knights would all know intrinsically when he would call upon them next.

Tom waited until they all had left to dismantle the privacy ward, and he sat there for a few minutes, allowing the quiet sounds of the library to wash over him.

It had always been one of his favourite places, Hogwarts Library.

His eyes unconsciously sought out Hadrian Peverell, and he wasn’t surprised to find that he was still hunched over whatever he was studying. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and he looked confused - curious, for the fact that he usually seemed to have no issues when it came to classwork. Tom debated going over and offering to help.

Would Peverell turn him away again, he wondered? Or would he accept out of desperation? Tom hesitated before allowing the next thought to cross over his mind.

What if he _reached out-_ Gave Peverell an insight to him, maybe an answer to a question he might have? Because _surely_ Peverell was just as curious about _him,_ right?

Tom inhaled deeply, then let his breath out slowly. It was a risk. He wasn’t _used_ to just telling people things about himself. He had enough of a hard time trusting _Cassius_ for Merlin’s sake, and that boy probably knew more about him than _he_ did!

Still… he had to try, right? Rosier had hinted that having Peverell by his side would help him greatly, and it only made sense to follow his advice to a T.

Tom dismissed the thought for the time being. He would think upon it later, perhaps the next day. For the moment, it wasn’t important.

Once more, he found himself staring at Peverell.

Tom hated how drawn he felt to him. It had become increasingly rare over the past few years for him to find a fixation in a _person,_ a fact that he had been grateful for. So surely, he surmised, it was only natural that it would crop up again now, what with Peverell being _new_ and all.

Still. As much as Tom hated the very _idea_ of it, of the very implications behind it, he felt the pull of this fixation differently than he had his last one, which had been a good couple of years ago.

He was maturing, both a blessing and a curse. His magic could only grow stronger yet, but so could everything _else_ about him.

Simply put, Tom _wanted_ Hadrian Peverell.

Lust was an emotion he’d only ever felt a few times before, in passing and for very select people. It was usually dismissed and passed with little to no incident, but this time was just _different._ Almost unnatural. Regardless, Tom hoped his _interest_ in Peverell would wane just as quickly as his past curiosities had.

It had to. He would accept no less.

Tom was drawn out of his musing by the sound of Peverell cursing far too loudly to be socially acceptable, and that alone made up his mind for him.

He shoved his things into his bag without double checking to make sure it was all neat and stood, making his way over to Hadrian Peverell with all the grace of a panther stalking its prey in the middle of the night.

“Do you want some help?” he asked quietly, truly sincere for what was probably the first time with Peverell. “You look like you could use it.”

Peverell groaned in exasperation the moment his voice rang out, not even giving Tom enough acknowledgment to at least _look_ at him. “Why can’t you just _go away?”_ he asked through gritted teeth.

Tom ignored it. True, none of his followers would have ever _dared_ talk to him like that, but Cassius had made it clear that Peverell wasn’t simply just _anyone._ Tom would have to change up his entire game when it came to him.

“No matter how much you dislike me, your grades shouldn’t suffer for it,” he chided quietly. He placed his bag on the ground next to where Hadrian was sitting and pulled out the chair closest to him.

“What are you struggling with?” Tom asked, sitting down and respectfully keeping his gaze on Hadrian, rather than peering down at his work. Peverell seemed like the kind of person that would appreciate a gesture like that.

“Golpalott’s Third Law,” Peverell admitted after a long moment of silence. He pushed his book over, and only then did Tom victoriously allow himself to look down. “I don’t get it.”

Tom nodded, his eyes skimming over the text. “It can be a difficult concept to understand,” he allowed. His eyes moved on and squinted at the parchment Peverell had been writing his notes on, his nose scrunching in distaste.

Peverell’s handwriting was _atrocious._

“Why are you doing this?” Peverell mumbled quietly, his tone matching the weariness Tom had found in his expression.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he replied dismissively, abandoning trying to decipher Peverell’s notes in favor of favor of flipping a little through the book he had instead. It was different than the one the rest of the class was using.

“For one,” Tom went on, his voice nearly catching in his interest, “your text material is different. It doesn’t explain the Law properly, just gives off a vague description of it. What book is this?” Some cramped scribbling in the margins caught his eye and he pulled the book closer to himself in an attempt to get a better look at it.

_Levicorpus._ Hm. That wasn’t anything he had ever heard of before.

Odd.

“It’s nothing!” Peverell said hastily, taking the book back before Tom could see anything else. “Just the book I used back home.”

“Well it’s inaccurate,” Tom said haughtily, reaching for his bag. “And it’s no wonder you’re having such difficulty when it comes to the theoretical part of class.”

He pulled out his own potions text, mentally noting that he would have to try to steal Peverell’s book at some point to get a better look at it, if only to find out why it was so vague.

Not to mention, that _word. Levicorpus._ Much like Peverell himself, it was curious.

“Golpalott’s Third Law,” he began in an instructional tone, flipping to the correct page, “is actually quite simple once you take the time to actually think about it.”

“That explains nothing,” Peverell deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

Tom glared at him, raising his eyebrows challengingly. “Do you want my help or not?”

“You’re one that offered!”

He ignored that. “To put it in simpler terms, it means that the true antidote to a poison is more than just what it’s made of. For example, if you combined two separate poisons or poisonous elements- for this I’ll use Cowbane and Belladonna- together on a person, it would hold little to no effect to use both separate antidotes to heal them. Can you tell me why that is?”

Peverell bit his lip in thought, and Tom could practically _see_ the gears turning in his head. “It’s because they’re combined, right?” he asked slowly, working it out. “So therefore, the effects and properties combine too, and the antidote wouldn’t work right because it’s an entirely _new_ poison.” His voice lowered slightly in satisfaction and triumph as he finished, and it almost made Tom want to smile.

He didn’t, though. “Precisely. Did you need anything else explained?”

Peverell shook his head, his expression changing drastically to one of melancholy as he came down from the high of emotion. Tom desperately wanted to know what was on his mind, but he abstained from asking.

The next move was Peverell’s to make.

Until he would, Tom opted to take out his own parchment and continue his research from earlier, scribbling out notes and ideas for essay topics. Whatever he did, it would have to be something impressive, something no one else would think of.

“Hey Tom?” Peverell finally piped up hesitantly, some time later. “Can I ask you something?”

Ah, so _this_ would be the route he would take to obtain Peverell’s friendship. He could live with that.

Maybe.

He set down his quill and looked up, giving Peverell his full attention this time. “You may,” he responded cordially, mentally preparing himself for something inane, possibly a request for him to leave Peverell alone for good, maybe a question as to why he wanted to be his friend so badly…

What followed, was neither.

“Why would you ever want to throw away your life like this?” Peverell questioned pensively, his tone full of sad wonder. He kept his gaze locked with Tom’s too-green eyes searching.

He blinked a few times in surprise. “If this is another jab at my desire to teach-”

“It’s not,” Hadrian interrupted, and Tom found himself scowling in irritation.

“Then I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he bit out, affronted. Throw his life away? What on _earth_ was Peverell on about now?

“You have so much potential,” Peverell murmured, “so much life. I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Quickly, Tom looked around to make sure that no one was around to be listening in. The library appeared to be deserted, and a glance at the ancient-looking clock on the wall indicated the lateness of the hour.

Nonetheless, Tom flicked his wand and silently erected a strong privacy ward around their table. Something in Peverell’s tone didn’t sit right with him, and he was _positive_ that whatever was about to be said would be something he wouldn’t overheard.

How right he was.

Peverell’s head tilted a little to the side, the action curiously appraising. “Why would you want to throw away everything you have to become Lord Voldemort?”

Tom stilled, and he was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a moment. Horror, shock, and grim acceptance all coursed through him, drowning out any thoughts he might have had. Peverell’s mouth opened again and words came out, but he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of own his own blood rushing in his ears. He was dimly aware of the sensation of pain, but didn’t register the cause of it until Peverell was reaching out and taking one of his wrists gently, unfurling fingers that had dug into his palms hard enough to break skin.

“You know.” The words were strangled, _weak._ Tom exhaled breath he didn’t have shakily, despising how caught off guard he was, how badly he failed to keep a mask in place. Rage, at both Peverell and himself, flared up. “ _How?”_ he hissed, wrenching his hand from Peverell’s grip and standing.

Peverell- _no, Hadrian. The game had changed- everything was different now. He was Hadrian._ He bit his lip, and his eyes glimmered with something that might have been fear. Tom hoped it was.

He was _furious._

How had Hadrian found out? Had he been right earlier to assume that one of his Knights had let the secret slip, possibly even before Hadrian had ever come to Hogwarts?

His first thoughts went to Avery, who had been almost alarmingly close with Hadrian from the very start. His initial thought was that Avery was just interested in Hadrian for the opportunity to bed him, to mark another notch in his list of conquests. But what if that wasn’t it at all, what if Tom had misjudged the situation?

His mind turned then, and a new, much more nauseating thought took its place. What if it had been _Cassius?_ Above anyone else, _anyone,_ Cassius Rosier was his _most_ trusted follower; a deputy of sorts to him, but Tom knew that he had his own secrets. He had to, it came with the territory of Sight.

Of course, the actual culprit wouldn’t be Rosier directly, but someone much more hated in his circle of Slytherins.

Albus Dumbledore.

Tom had _asked,_ had questioned if Hadrian Peverell wasn’t perhaps a spy sent from Dumbledore that very afternoon, and Cassius had reassured him that it wasn’t the case, that Hadrian wasn’t Dumbledore’s.

Had he _lied?_

Sheer rage bubbled up inside him at the thought, teetering close to the edge of letting loose. His magic was something dark, whispering temptations in his ear as it danced in the air.

Tom was nearly inclined to give in. No matter _who_ had betrayed him, no matter what reasons either of them might have had, _this_ was unforgivable.

_Avery or Rosier,_ his magic teased, thrumming in tune with his every thought. _Which will it be?_ To him, there was no difference.

Tom would _flay_ them.

“You need to calm down Riddle,” Hadrian said sharply, snapping his mind out of its plots of pleasingly gruesome torture.

To Tom’s shock, Hadrian was not cowering in the face of his magic rolling off of him in waves, oppressive in its force. Instead, Hadrian’s own magical aura had risen to the challenge of Tom’s, matching him pulse for pulse. Even more stunning yet was how _unperturbed_ Hadrian seemed by it, almost as if he didn’t even notice.

It was enough to make Tom falter momentarily, second guess himself. Just who _was_ Hadrian Peverell, that he could stand his ground without even flinching when up against a magical force so great that even Rosier couldn’t help but react?

Cassius, who always knew when to expect it, who was unbothered by _so much?_

His rage caught as interest sparked to life and Tom reeled in some of his magic, wondering all the while if this situation could be reconciled.

Hadrian Peverell was _magnificent._

His magical core was greater than Tom had been able to see, and its true size in this state was enough to rival his own, something he had found in no wizard so far, other than Dumbledore.

_This_ is what Cassius had meant when he’d said Hadrian would be of value to him, he just _knew_ it. Regardless of Rosier’s potential status as a traitor, Tom trusted his word on that.

He had to have him.

Of course, he would have to find out how Hadrian had found out about him, but that could come later. It would have to, Tom realized belatedly as he took a moment to study Hadrian.

Somewhere in the blind haze of his anger, Hadrian had stood too, and his arms were crossed over his chest in irritation. His right arm was tensed, signifying that he was ready to draw his wand at a moment’s notice. His expression was stoic, disinterested perhaps, but his eyes conveyed everything Tom needed to know.

Hadrian was afraid. Not of him, Tom realized, tilting his head slightly, but of what he had revealed. The knowledge of Tom’s alter ego had been an important playing card for him, and he was likely realizing what a mistake it had been to reveal it.

_But what was he planning to_ do _with the information?_ Tom wondered, lowering the wand he hadn’t known he’d raised. _Go to Dumbledore?_

From here, he had two choices. He could do as he wanted, get the information he wanted from Hadrian and then leave and torture either Rosier or Avery depending on what answers he received. Alternatively, and probably wisely in Cassius’ opinion, he could backtrack. Apologize to Hadrian for losing his temper with him (without mentioning the fact that he was tempted to curse him, of course) and find out what exactly Hadrian’s goal was, how he planned to use the information, and see if he couldn’t possibly convince him that it really would be in his best interests to join his Knights if he didn’t want to meet an… _unfortunate_ end.

Maybe it would be better to omit that last part too, Tom mused as he slipped his wand back into its holster.

“My apologies,” Tom said slowly, taking his seat. “You caught me off guard.”

The weariness in Hadrian’s expression didn’t wane. “Are you good now?” he asked, an eyebrow raising.

Inhale…exhale. Tom nodded, keeping his face devoid of any emotion. “It’s as I said,” he responded, his tone a bit more stiff than he would have liked. “You caught me off guard by asking that question. I didn’t expect you to know about…all that.”

Hadrian grimaced. “Sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head. “I should have realized that would be a bad idea…”

“May I inquire how you came about it?” Tom questioned, eyeing the other boy. “It isn’t the kind of information I usually let float about.”

“I would certainly hope not,” Hadrian muttered.

Tom frowned at that. “You can sit back down, you know,” he said crossly, scowling. “I’m not going to explode.”

Hadrian’s lips twitched in amusement, but he said nothing as he took his seat. For a few minutes, they both just watched one another in silence.

“What did you mean by ‘throw my life away’?” Tom finally asked hesitantly, breaking it.

Hadrian glanced away from Tom, and when he looked back, he kept his gaze trained down to the table. “It’s really nothing…” he mumbled, shifting.

“That’s an evasive statement,” Tom pointed out flatly. “Try again.”

“What are you going to do if I refuse to answer?” Hadrian challenged, his head snapping up.

Tom was taken aback by it. Hadrian’s mood had shifted from tenseness to resignation, and then back to what he figured was anger all in the span of just a few minutes. It was perplexing.

For a minute, he pondered what his reply would be. His first thought was that he would take it by force, maybe use a threat or two to scare it out of him. He dismissed it though, getting the feeling that Hadrian was expecting exactly that.

Another thought niggled at his mind, and he let it form. He could always do the unexpected, take the route that _no one_ would ever think that he would. Tom Riddle was many things, after all, but never a person to let things lie.

“I won’t do anything,” he said finally, his words careful. “Of course, I would very much _like_ to know, but I can understand if you’re withholding information to protect someone.” _And when I find that someone, he’ll wish he had never crossed me._

Hadrian’s brows furrowed in surprise. “…Oh.”

In response, Tom raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting anything else?” he asked loftily. “Promises of torture, perhaps? I didn’t assume you were the kind of person to anticipate something like that, but I suppose I must remember that every person has their…tendencies.” He offered a sweet, openly fake smile.

Hadrian scowled. “Shove off,” he muttered, a deep flush creeping up his cheeks. “That’s not- it isn’t what I meant and you know it, you prick.”

Tom smirked, and for a moment he pondered what kind of situation he’d gotten himself into. He’d intended on swaying Hadrian into his reign of control, perhaps get some answers, and instead he was faced with _this._

Some revelations, a half answer or two, and almost _companionable_ banter.

He didn’t know how to feel about this.

Was this was Rosier had meant, when he’d said that they were compatible? Had he meant more than just by magical terms?

The very thought made Tom scowl. As much as he usually was keen to follow Rosier’s advice, he was not _lonely._ He did not need anyone, he was perfectly okay without having the required attachment of friendship added on to everything.

“I’ll answer it, for a price,” Hadrian piped up out of the blue a few minutes later, surprising him.

His eyes narrowed contemplatively. “What are your terms?” he asked, giving in _only_ because Hadrian’s cryptic question had piqued his curiosity.

“If you answer mine, I’ll answer yours,” Hadrian stated simply, laying his arms down on the table, using one hand to prop up his chin.

Tom’s eyes narrowed further. “That’s it?” he asked lowly, disbelieving. “That’s all you want?”

Hadrian nodded, looking relieved that he was seemingly getting his way.

Curious.

What did he have to gain, by laying out _this_ card? He’d _just_ been so anxious to _not_ have to answer, and he hadn’t seemed so bothered before that Tom had never answered _his_ question. So why the change now?

Was Tom’s answer supposed to be some kind of test, maybe something significant to him? Had he only decided his wager because some part of him had decided he needed to have Tom’s answer just as much as Tom needed his?

“You’ll need to answer mine first,” Tom pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “For me to understand yours. What did you mean by ‘throw my life away’?”

“I didn’t ask it in those words,” Hadrian retorted, grinning smugly. “I asked you why you would throw away everything you have to become a dark lord. Forgive me, if I thought that you’d be able to understand the meaning behind it.”

Tom huffed in irritation. He shouldn’t _have_ to ask Hadrian what his question meant, but none of it made any _sense._ “I won’t answer until you explain it,” he told him in a haughty tone, despising how childish he sounded in that moment.

Hadrian snorted, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Your wish is my command,” he muttered flippantly. He fell silent then, his entire demeanor changing once more as he seemed to study Tom for a few minutes. When he finally spoke, his tone was almost wistful.

“When you were explaining Golpalott’s Law to me, you were so much…different. Despite the indifferent mask you wore, I could tell how much you enjoyed being able to explain something to someone else, to teach them something new. You love magic, and everything else about it. I can’t understand why you would give all that up to wage a war on muggles.”

Tom blinked a few times, stunned. While Hadrian _had_ been right that he enjoyed teaching others, he was so far off course with the rest of it that it was almost laughable.

“You really _must_ be a minion of Dumbledore’s,” he said, amused despite the implications of his words. “Never, in all of my plans, have I ever once stated a desire to start a war.”

It was amusing, he thought with a small smirk, to watch Hadrian struggle to reconcile what Tom was saying with what he so _clearly_ believed.

“You…you don’t?” he asked, confused. “But… I thought… you hate muggles, don’t you?”

“I dislike them,” Tom conceded. “But that doesn’t automatically spell out war.” Suddenly Hadrian’s words from a few nights past made sense, his vehement opposition against Grindelwald, the fire behind his words.

“But it will lead to that,” Hadrian warned, his eyes dark. “It always does, Tom.”

Tom thought about that for a few minutes. He had a point. Separation from the muggle world was needed, and there was every guarantee that _some_ blood would have to be spilled to make it happen. How could he word it in a way that Hadrian would understand it, though?

What was more, did he even want to?

“It would be foolish to begin a war when the muggles are in the middle of their own,” he started slowly, deciding that he’d try to avoid implicating himself in anything for a while. “That is where Grindelwald has gone wrong. Magical blood is being needlessly spilled for it.”

_“No_ blood should be spilled for it!” Hadrian exclaimed angrily.

Tom sighed. “But it always does,” he pointed out, throwing Hadrian’s own words back at him. “It is inevitable, even the best of people can understand that.” The words _you’re too naïve_ went unspoken.

“I refuse to believe that,” Hadrian said stubbornly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then that is where you, too, will go wrong,” Tom replied simply.

“Fine then, what _is_ your plan?” Hadrian bit out, sitting up straighter and crossing his arms in defiance.

Tom thought on it for a moment. How much should he reveal to him? There was still every chance that he could go to Dumbledore with it, but this could also be his chance to sway Hadrian over to his side.

“I want to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he began slowly, “to change the perception of what is truly ‘dark’.”

Hadrian gaped at him in surprise. “That- that’s _it?”_ he asked faintly, his tone rising in disbelief. “You’re doing all this to rally for Dark magic? That’s _it?”_

“There _is_ no Light or Dark magic,” Tom said sharply. “That is the first thing you need to understand, Hadrian Peverell. Magic is infinite and simply _is._ The Light or Dark in it lies in the wizard’s intent when using it. Just as there is no true good or evil.”

Hadrian’s face darkened. “Just as there’s only power, and those too weak to seek it, right?”

“Exactly.” Tom sat back, pleased with the deduction. Maybe they _were_ compatible, if Hadrian had the same mindset as him.

“I will _never_ agree with that,” Hadrian insisted, almost as if he had read Tom’s mind. “There could _never_ be anything light about casting something like the killing curse.”

“That is where you are also wrong,” Tom challenged, his voice soft. “Think about this: a loved one, your best friend perhaps, is lying out on the ground in front of you, bleeding out due to a wound. There is no time to get a healer, and you yourself do not know a healing spell strong enough to save them. The choice is yours – you can let them bleed out and die painfully, or you can cast the killing curse. It takes less than a half a second for them to die, and it is easy, painless. It would be far more merciful.”

“That’s not- I-” Hadrian struggled to find words to refute his own point, but Tom already knew he had none. Light oriented wizards were all the same in the end, and his example was the ultimate moral dilemma.

“Exactly. A classified Dark spell, but a Light intent behind it. Magic is not either,” he repeated.

Hadrian’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “There’s no way I’ll be able to convince you otherwise, is there?”

Tom considered it for a moment, wondering why Hadrian was still so persistent, even when faced with logic. He conceded, allowing a wry grin to cross over his lips. Excitement raced through him at the thought of Hadrian trying to convert him, and he found that he was looking forward to the boy’s challenge. “I suppose, Hadrian Peverell, that remains to be seen.”


	4. In the Blink of an Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the month between updates! Life and a secret santa project kinda got away from me, but things are mostly back on schedule now. The biggest of thanks to Alex for betaing this, with all of her comma commealeon tendencies <3
> 
> Also, comments!!! That is a thing I need to get better at responding to, and I swear I will!!! My second resolution of the year!!!!! Nonetheless, seeing each and every comment really brightened my days, and I am thankful for each and every one of them. They are cherished <3

“Alright class, make two lines!” Professor Merrythought announced the moment everyone had filed into the room.

Harry grinned, in both excitement and anticipation.

It was Friday.

Arguably the very best thing about 1943, Professor Merrythought dedicated Friday’s morning double to dueling- “stress relief”, she called it- without very many limitations. Nothing illegal which ruled out most ‘Dark’ spells, much to Tom’s chagrin. No outside help, one’s duel was their own. And finally, no duels to the death. That was it. Duels were then fought one at a time, so Professor Merrythought could then critique each participant on their performances, and give them advice on how to do better.

It had only taken a few minutes of Defence in his first week in the past to be convinced that he was in love; a few minutes more to wonder why it wasn’t still practiced in the present, and a few seconds to halfheartedly curse the day Albus Dumbledore refused Tom the position as Defence teacher.

Tom Riddle, who had become Voldemort and killed his parents in the present.

Tom Riddle, who was slowly becoming something like a friend to him in the past.

It was utterly and irrevocably maddening, and yet, it simply _was._ The shift from _foe_ to _friend_ had snuck up on Harry in conversations at first, small things that he and Tom would both find to nitpick one another about, and shifted into lengthy debates over just about anything- Light and Dark, politics, classes, etcetera. Before Harry had known it, he was spending more time with Tom in a day than he was Ron and Hermione in the future-present. He wasn’t sure if he needed to be worried by that or not.

“Who do you think you’ll be fighting today?” Benjamin, who preferred to be called Ben (if not his surname), asked in a low murmur, a wicked smirk on his lips.

“Dunno,” he replied offhandedly, glancing over at the other members of their group, then around the room.

Last week, he’d battled against Lucian and won, much to his satisfaction, then Avery had gone up against a Gryffindor by the name of Megan, and lost. Harry had lost track of all the other duels, thanks to the very last one to take place for the class period.

There had been only a few minutes left, which had already made Harry dubious enough that it could even be completed on time, and then Professor Merrythought had called out the first duelist's name and it had all suddenly make sense.

Because only Tom bloody Riddle could win a duel in under three minutes.

And win he had. His opponent, a Gryffindor named Andrea McKinnon had hesitantly stepped onto the platform a few moments after her name was called and exchanged the traditional pleasantries with Tom, then shifted into a fighting stance.

She hadn’t stood a chance.

Two double shield charms, a missed _Stupefy,_ one silent _Reducto_ and then an _Expelliarmus_ fired rapidly after it and she was down for the count, Riddle clutching her wand triumphantly and looking down on her with a smile that looked kind, but was really a cocky smirk.

The duel had lasted less than a minute.

“If you’d like, I could always take you on,” Mulciber offered, leering suggestively at him.

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’d rather take on a fully grown mountain troll,” he replied flippantly, grinning at a joke that only he would ever be able to understand.

“Again,” he added just as Arella Parkinson joined them, having just lost her own duel against a Gryffindor – Catherine MacDonald, Harry noted, feeling a flash of pride for his (Old? Future? What was Gryffindor to him, in this time?) House.

“Potter, you’re up!” Professor Merrythought called out then, and Harry’s heart almost stopped.

How did she- had he somehow-

He shot a quick look over at Riddle to gauge his reaction, only to find that he was staring intently over at other side of the room where the Gryffindors were scattered about, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Peverell, you’ll be up against him,” she instructed as one of the Gryffindors stepped onto the platform, his wand ready. Harry eyed his opponent curiously as he walked up onto the platform, ignoring the whispers that had broken out around them.

They could almost be twins.

Potter- Harry didn’t know his first name- was about the same height, if not just a bit taller. His hair was longer than Harry's, but was just as scruffy as if it had never been brushed. The only difference that Harry could immediately see were the eyes; Potter's were rich and dark in colour, though they sparkled with a mischievousness Harry had imagined would have been in his father's eyes.

It made his chest ache; to come face to face with one of his ancestors and not reveal himself, to be left to wonder once more what life would have been like, had his parents not been killed by Voldemort.

"Observe the formalities," Professor Merrythought prompted, undeterred by the startling likeness between the two Potters.

For a moment, neither teen moved. Potter stared at Harry, his eyes wide with curiosity and surprise. Harry assumed that his expression was no better.

Finally, Potter sank into a low bow, tearing his gaze away from Harry.

"Best of luck," he said, his tone steady.

Harry returned the bow, albeit not as deep, nor did he return the vocal gesture. He didn't trust that he'd be able to keep himself from spilling out at least a _little bit_ of truth if he said anything, and that would spell out disaster.

When Harry drew back up to his full height, they turned and walked away from one another in the same moment, retreating to their respective ends of the dueling platform.

"Three," Potter started, brandishing his wand with a flourish.

"Two," Harry returned, grinning despite himself. His own wand was already drawn and pointed at Potter's chest.

 _"One!"_ Potter finished, his first spell already on his lips.

In the split second Harry had, he wordlessly raised a shield charm, following it with a relatively harmless tripping jinx. Potter predictably deflected it, shooting off an impediment jinx. Though Harry's shield charm repelled it, the jinx also weakened it enough that he would only be defended for another few spells before it shattered.

_“Reducto!"_

Potter blocked the spell once more, changing up his strategy and casting a nonverbal spell. It hit Harry's shield charm once more, completely shattering it, and continued forward. With Harry distracted with raising a new shield charm, Potter took his chance to advance.

 _“Stupefy!”_ A red jet burst forth from his wand and aimed straight for Harry. Reflexes Harry hadn’t had to use since the Department of Mysteries kicked in and he dodged to the right, the spell missing him by a hair’s breadth.

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

Potter raised a shield charm just in time, his expression shifting to one of amusement. He burst into light laughter, lowering his wand slightly. “Petrificus Totalus?” he said incredulously, shaking his head a little. “What is this, first year? That’s your go-to?”

“Can’t be any worse than Stupefy,” Harry retorted and grinned sheepishly. With Potter distracted by their exchange, he saw his opportunity, and seized it. _“Expelliarmus!”_

The spell caught Potter off guard, his wand sent flying out of his hand before he could think to try blocking it.

With ease that could only ever come to a Seeker, Harry reached up and deftly caught the wand in his free hand, giving it a small twirl for show. All around them, students clapped politely, a few whistles of appreciation sounding here and there.

“Peverell wins the round,” Professor Merrythought announced, ascending onto the platform. Her robes billowed behind her in a way that would have made Professor Snape envious.

“Here,” Harry walked up to Potter and handed him his wand. “Good match.”

“You too,” Potter complimented, nodding. “You’re fairly decent.”

Harry gave Potter a dip of his head in respect before returning to where Tom, Lucian, and Ben were all waiting for him.He ignored Mulciber, who was standing behind Nott and staring at him with a cocky expression, his arms folded over his chest. He would _never_ acknowledge Mulciber.

“Hadrian,” Tom greeted, his tone cooler than usual. “That duel was sloppy.”

Harry shrugged, rolling his eyes. “So?” he said nonchalantly, knowing that it would anger the young dark lord.

“You should have knocked him on his arse!” Tom hissed quietly as Professor Merrythought called out the next two opponents- Eli Davis of Slytherin and Gwendolyn Thomas of Gryffindor.

Tom’s cheeks were red, Harry noticed, feeling absolutely delighted at how easy it was to rile him up by pretending not to care. “It’s just a classroom duel,” he responded flippantly as Ben let out a small snicker.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “How disappointing.” His lips curled into a sneer. He was loud enough so that their small group of four could hear him over the sounds of the newly started duel, but they were it. “I would have thought that one such as yourself would understand the objective to this class.”

“He’s got a point,” Nott chimed in, nodding once. He kept his eyes from Tom and slightly lowered, likely an act of submission to the future dark lord. “These duels are supposed to prepare us for the real world, Hadrian, as amusing as your performance was.”

An eyebrow lifted in disbelief. “Are you being serious right now?” Harry asked, crossing his arms. “Real battle is nothing like these mock duels.”

“Be that as it may, this class is a prime opportunity to learn the fighting styles of future opponents.” Tom retorted quietly.

For a moment, Harry gaped. Was Tom _serious?_ Did he _actually_ believe that everyone present amounted to little more than future enemies?

“You’re crazy,” he announced, tossing his hands up in a melodramatic fashion. “You’re thinking far too much into this, Riddle.”

Tom opened his mouth to respond, but Professor Merrythought announced the end of the duel (Gwendolyn had won) and began critiquing the form of Eli.

“I’m sure Hadrian will take the duels more seriously when it counts,” Ben jumped in, looking quickly between Tom and Harry. “I mean, did you see how easily he beat Potter? He _clearly_ was just playing with him.” He gave Harry a meaningful look.

“Right,” he agreed, halfway stunned by the fact that Avery was on his side and helping to diffuse a tense situation, rather than create one.t. He’d figured Ben’s loyalty to Tom would automatically overrule any kindling friendship, but perhaps he was wrong.

“Hmmph,” Tom huffed with a sneer, crossing his arms and turning away to pay attention to the next duel.

“Careful with that one,” Ben whispered, laying a hand briefly on his arm. “I know he looks docile most of the time, but he doesn’t like it when people don’t take schoolwork seriously.”

John Bell was up against Summer Davies, both from Gryffindor. Their duel started off lazily, much like Harry’s and Potter’s had, but it quickly picked up in intensity as the two traded barbs that were too quiet to hear from where they were standing.

Watching the mock fight, Harry tried to see the situation from Tom’s point of view. Supposedly, in Tom’s mind, these two would someday be opponents on a battleground. Even now, did he already count on having to wage a war for his cause?

Yes, he decided as he turned his attention to Tom. His face had taken on a disdainful expression, and his posture had tensed up during the duel. After constantly time traveling for the past couple of weeks, he could see how Tom would one day walk in Lord Voldemort’s exact footsteps.

If he were to call this mission a success, that would have to change.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked Tom, stepping closer to him. It was both to hear him better, and to create a sense of privacy.

“The male is a poor fighter,” Tom replied shortly, his voice low. “Though, he's exceptional on a broom. Plays Chaser.” He almost sounded disgusted with himself for knowing that.

Harry merely nodded in response, wondering with a small amount of amusement if Tom had learned that from Ben, and if Quidditch positions tended to be a hereditary thing.

“The girl on the other hand…” Tom’s head tilted, a small smirk curling on his lips as he watched spells fly between the two. “Do you see how light she is on her feet, Hadrian?” he asked, leaning ever so slightly in toward Harry. “She has the grace of a seasoned warrior, even though she has yet to see battle. Someday, she will make a deadly opponent.”

“Not an ally?” Harry questioned, even though he had an inkling of what Tom’s answer would be. The reasoning behind it though, he would have never guessed.

“She is too ensnared by the Light,” Tom said simply. “She’d never join my cause with reason.”

“Doesn’t that make you mad?” Harry wondered, trying to determine where in the timeline Voldemort had started killing those who opposed him. If he didn’t believe in killing muggles yet, his casually murderous tendencies wouldn’t exist at that moment either.

Tom shrugged. “Of course, but there’s nothing to be done for it. An unwilling supporter is a worthless one.”

“Smart,” was all Harry had to say. In the back of his mind, he wondered how on earth Tom Riddle could have ever gone from being an intelligent, attractive, and logical teenager to becoming an ugly psychopathic dark lord.

It was perplexing.

“Even though you’ve been integrating yourself into my friend group nicely, I must ask: how are you settling in? Is Hogwarts to your liking?”

Harry thought on the question. It had been fairly easy to settle into being in a different time, and Cassius Rosier aside, the company wasn’t the worst. As evil as Slytherins had always been stereotyped to be… they really weren’t.

Sure, some of them had morally conflicting views on certain matters, but they were human. They had their own desires, their own fears. They had families and worried about schoolwork and relationships, and with the exception of a few, not one of them seemed to care enough about muggleborns and half-bloods enough to want them dead.

“Much of a shock as it was to wake up to your snake sleeping on my chest my second day, I’ve been settling in fine,” Harry replied slowly with a chuckle. “Hogwarts is amazing. It feels like home, you know?”

Tom nodded, a serene smile slipping over his lips. “I know _exactly_ what you mean,” he murmured. “Hogwarts is the only place that’s ever been a home to me.” He paused for a moment, his expression growing more thoughtful. “To be honest, I’m not sure why Ouroboros curled up in your bed instead of mine. He usually doesn’t get confused.”

“How long have you had him?” Harry asked curiously. He’d never seen the snake in any of the memories Dumbledore had shown him, so perhaps he was only recently acquired?

The smile was back. “He’s been my companion for almost eight years.”

Harry frowned in thought. “That’s an awfully long time for a snake,” he pointed out dubiously.

Tom shrugged. “They generally live about eight years in the wild anyway. I’ve been taking good care of him, so it’s not that far fetched that he’s still alive.”

“I thought they only live in Africa? How’d you find him?”

“He found me.”

Tom was lying to him. That was the only explanation that made any sense to Harry, because there was no way a snake from Africa had somehow just shown up in London and then happened to find a wizard. Tom probably _had_ recently bought him, and was trying to cover it up.

The question of _why_ crossed his mind, but he could think of a few reasons. Dumbledore already knew Tom was a parselmouth, and so it only made sense that he wouldn’t want there to be any snakes around Hogwarts that Tom could use for nefarious purposes. Not to mention the _poison._ Boomslangs were poisonous, and though it was true that their venom was slow acting, the side effects were also near impossible to detect until it was too late.

Harry sighed quietly. He should have known that Tom would lie to him at point or another; it was in his nature to do so. He’d just hoped (rather foolishly, now that he was thinking about it) that he’d be able to _change_ that.

“Where’s your head gotten to?” Lucian, who had been previously silent, asked causing  Harry to jump.

He had forgotten Avery and Nott were even there, and was surprised neither of them had said anything before now. Had Tom put up a privacy ward so they wouldn’t be able to hear?

Harry wouldn’t put it past him for even a moment.

“Nothing,” he responded, shaking his head. “Just zoned out.”

“I call bullocks,” Ben sang quietly. “It’s really interesting to watch you when we can’t hear you; your face gives everything away. Tell me Hadrian, what’s got you so agitated?”

Harry rolled his eyes, inwardly cursing his inability to hide his emotions for the millionth time. “I’m serious,” he insisted halfheartedly, glancing over his shoulder at Avery. “I’m just tired.”

Ben was smirking at Harry, looking right back at him through half-lidded eyes. “Mmhmm,” he hummed, sounding just as disbelieving as Harry knew him to be. “That’s really interesting, considering you retire at half to nine every night.”

 _“Ben,”_ Lucian warned sharply. “We've talked about this, leave off it already.”

“Fine.” Avery scowled as he fell silent.

“So Hadrian,” Lucian began, changing the subject, “are you excited for your welcoming party tomorrow?”

“I am,” Harry replied neutrally. “Not sure what to expect, though.”

“You will enjoy yourself,” Tom promised, looking over at the trio for a moment. “However, I recommend you all hush, or put up a privacy ward before you all get into trouble. At least _try_ to look like you’re paying attention,” he chided.

“Right, sorry,” Lucian apologized, flicking his wand once. A thin ward shimmered to life, encompassing the small group of Slytherins.

Harry only rolled his eyes, too used to the subservient and, disturbingly, adoring nature of Tom’s friends to say anything about it. “Not like there’s much Merrythought can do about it,” he pointed out.

“Still,” Ben piped up, never one to stay quiet for very long. “I guess it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Says _you,”_ Tom scoffed not taking his eyes from the dueling match a second time. “I won’t be the one that has to answer to and subsequently duel the professor when we get caught.”

“Scared?” Harry taunted quietly, mimicking Tom’s pose and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Smart,” Tom quipped back, not missing a beat.

“Translation: he doesn’t think he can take her,” Ben mock-whispered loudly, putting a hand against the side of his mouth as if it would keep Tom from hearing. Which it didn’t, of course.

“Is that a challenge?” Tom’s voice was low, and despite his benevolent demeanor, his words carried a hint of dark promise.

“Course not,” Ben replied, his face paling slightly.

“Hmm.” Tom raised an eyebrow at the denial. “Somehow, it would seem that you’ve already forgotten what happened the last time you goaded me,” he drawled. To anyone not paying much attention, he likely would have looked bored, but Harry didn’t miss the subtle tightening in his shoulders. “We’ll be dueling tomorrow, then.”

Avery nodded quickly, ducking his head. “Yes,” he assented in a low murmur. “Conditions?”

Tom’s lips curled upward in amusement. “To be discussed,” he replied cryptically, dispelling their privacy ward with a single twitch of his wand.

“-right class, we’ll leave off here for today. Essays on my desk no later than Monday morning, or it’ll be points for the lot of you,” Professor Merrythought instructed, her sharp gaze falling on an unfortunate group of Gryffindor boys.

As they slowly filed out of the classroom after everyone else,Tom insisting on being last for some inane reason, Lucian and Harry resumed talking about the party-to-be the following night, while Avery and Tom listened in.

"Of course, you're the first transfer student Hogwarts has had in a really long time, so this has to be special," Nott was saying. "Tom's already got drinks figured out, but was there anything you wanted specifically?"

Harry shook his head. "I trust him," he said, sounding way more confident than he actually felt about the statement. "The only thing I really want to know is where it's going to be held."

 _"That's_ a secret," Ben jumped in teasingly. "Otherwise you could try finding the place and spoiling everything we've worked for."

Despite Avery's friendly disposition, the words sent a chill down Harry's spine. It was words like those, casual statements that _sounded_ innocent enough that set him on edge and made him truly _acknowledge_ where and when he was. Even though Avery and Nott were pretty nice to hang around and he tentatively thought of them as friends, a small voice in the back of his mind had to remind him that he couldn't allow himself to be _too_ comfortable around them. Just in case.

"Not like you'd be able to find the place anyway," Tom murmured smugly. "It's untraceable."

That sealed it, then, Harry decided. Tom and his followers were going to lead him down into the Chamber of Secrets for this 'party', which had both positives and negatives. On the plus side, it'd mean that he'd have a confirmation that Tom knew where it was and he would be able to start making plans from there. On the downside....there was always the possibility that this party was a clever ruse, and they'd take the chance to use him for some sort of nefarious ritual and leave his body where he'd never be found.

That was totally plausible, right?

“Where do you guys want to go for homework?” Tom asked then. “There’s something going on in the library today, so that isn’t an option.”

“We should just go back to the room.” Lucian glanced at Harry. “That way, Hadrian can get his usual nap in while we’re at it. Plus, he might absorb the information better if he’s asleep. I swear I read about it once.”

“Yeah _right,”_ Avery snickered. “You sleep more than enough to rival _Mulciber_ at this point Hadrian. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still passing at the rate you’re going.”

“I just like sleeping,” Harry mumbled defensively. “That doesn’t automatically mean that I’m going to fail all my classes.”

“Plus, Hadrian’s been doing better than you,” Lucian pointed out to Ben. “And you _don’t_ regularly take naps. Maybe you’d learn better if you did too.”

“ _He’s_ the one that keeps turning me down for napping together,” Avery quipped back, smirking. “So may-”

“We’ll go to the dorm then,” Tom interrupted brusquely, huffing quietly in annoyance. “You can sleep, Hadrian, and we’ll wake you when it’s time to go to lunch.”

As they slowly made their way to the Slytherin dungeons, Harry remained quiet and allowed the idle chatter of his housemates to wash over him. His eyes kept roving around the hallway, sweeping over the students in a never ending search. What or who he was looking for, though, he didn't know until he found it.

And 'it' came in the form of a very shrill protest from a girl Harry never once thought he'd see alive.

"Give me back my journal Olive, or I swear to Merlin-!" she cried indignantly, her wand already trained on the girl in front of her- Olive, presumably.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Tom muttered under his breath. "Can't they let this rest for just one day?" He sounded almost miserable, and it almost made Harry want to smile. Almost. He would have, had this scene not been a possible hint at the motivation behind Moaning Myrtle's death.

But that had been an accident, hadn't it? Myrtle had said so herself, had blamed her death on circumstance rather than a direct motivation. Resolutely, Harry vowed that he would both discover the truth about why and how Myrtle had died in the future-present, and simultaneously prevent her death from ever happening in the first place.

Harry had stopped walking the moment he had laid eyes on Myrtle Warren, and the rest of the group had followed suit. Why they had, he couldn't fathom. Now, Tom strode forward, an authoritative expression on his face.

"What's going on here?"

Myrtle started, looking up at her would-be savior with admiration. "T-Tom!" she exclaimed, inflecting her tone into something far sweeter than the banshee-like shrill it had been just minutes earlier. "Hi!"

"Hello," Tom greeted back with a forced smile. "Myrtle, Olive. What's going on here? You know you're not supposed to be using magic in the halls between classes, especially not for personal squabbles."

As Myrtle began spinning an elaborate tale about how Olive had gone through her things _"again",_ Harry found himself walking forward to stand by Tom. A part of him still couldn't dare believe that this Myrtle was _actually_ alive, the same part of him that suddenly had more hope in his mission's goal than he ever had before.

_He wasn't too late._

The words "Hi Myrtle" flew out of his mouth before he could even begin to think of what a potentially bad idea it might be, and the next thing he knew, Tom was staring at him with bemused disdain, and Myrtle and Olive both were gaping at him with wide eyes.

"H-hi," Myrtle squeaked, her cheeks flushing. "Who are you?"

Harry's brain finally caught up with his unfiltered mouth, and he mentally berated himself for saying anything to her. The Myrtle he knew in his own time had a crush on him that was probably bigger than the one Hermione and Ron both blindly had on one another.

"That's not important right now," Tom interrupted briskly, using his best no-nonsense tone. "Olive, give Myrtle back her diary. Myrtle, take better care to keep your things under a locking charm if you don't want them found. The next time I catch you two about to trade hexes in the corridor, it'll be points and detention for both of you. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir," both girls chorused, one sulky and the other overly bubbly. Olive reluctantly handed Myrtle a bubblegum pink book and slunk away. Myrtle stayed behind, clutching the book protectively against her chest. Her eyes were wide and awestruck, and her gaze remained trained on Tom.

"Thank you so much Tom!" she gushed. "I don't know how I can ever-"

"Yes yes," Tom deadpanned, cutting her off. "Get to class before you're late." Discretely, he tugged on Harry's robe sleeve in a clear signal that it was high time that they headed out themselves. Without another word or even a glance back, they both left Myrtle where she was still standing in favor of rejoining their small group of Slytherins that had expanded by two- Parkinson and Mulciber, two people that Harry couldn't care less about, if he were being quite honest with himself.

"I don't even want to know how you knew who that girl is," Tom started as they resumed walking to the Slytherin dungeons, "so I won't ask. I'll advise you to stay far away from her, though. You'll regret it if you don't." Those final words were said with a deep grimace, and Harry briefly wondered if there were something more personal to the whole story.

"He only says that because Warren fancies him," Arella Parkinson teased good-naturedly. "You stop a girl from being bullied once, and a lifelong attraction is the end result!"

"I told you to never speak about that," Tom hissed under his breath. To Harry's surprise, he actually sounded more embarrassed than he did mad.

The rest of their trip passed by in a comfortable silence, and the group split when they got to the common room. Nathaniel and Eli both opted to play chess in the common room, and Arella went off to go work on an editorial she was drafting up for a paper. That left only Lucian, Ben, Tom, and Harry to go to the dorm for their homework/napping session. Though Harry would never allow himself to admit it out loud, he was perfectly comfortable with that. Despite the small worries in the back of his mind that cropped up every once in a while, he trusted his three companions enough to let his guard down just a little bit around them.

As Harry settled in for a nap, he allowed his mind to wander to everything that had happened the past couple of weeks.

Surprisingly, he’d adjusted to switching between and living in the past and present rather well, besides the occasional moment of confusion. The shift also made him tired and hungry, but he wasn’t too worried about it. It was because the process was draining, he figured. Time traveling that one time with Hermione hadn’t been so bad, but that had only been a few hours. In contrast, he was going back and forth fifty-four years every twelve hours. He didn’t even _want_ to imagine the drain it must have been having on his magic.

It only made sense that he was always exhausted and hungry these days. He probably wasn’t consuming enough calories to fully support the shift, and the tiredness was probably just because he didn’t have as much energy. In his opinion, both were easily fixable.

As much as Harry was trying to keep the frequent time traveling a secret, though, it was beginning to show. For the most part, it was the present that had taken the most notice.

Harry tended to zone out worse than usual in class on the days it was lecture only, and he tended to take the opportunity to get some sleep in-between, much to Hermione’s disapproval.

 _“You should be working on classwork!”_ she had chided one day the moment Harry had announced that he was going to take a nap before lunch. _“Honestly Harry, you’re going to fall behind if you don’t put more effort into these things!”_

 _“I know,”_ he had mumbled evasively, and went anyway.

As far as homework went, he had to admit that she had a fair point. With his full schedule (plus the demands 1943 had on him) and constantly drained physique, he often procrastinated in favor of making sure he was getting enough rest where he could. He still _tried_ to do some homework each night, there just wasn’t as much time or effort put into it.

That, he quickly came to realize, was the one thing he didn’t have to worry about when it came to his time traveling expeditions.

Hanging out with Tom Riddle _did_ have its advantages after all.

For one, they took time to work on various assignments at almost every available opportunity, and dedicated at least two and a half hours to it that Harry was able to participate in, thanks to not having quidditch to worry about. And that wasn’t even _mentioning_ the two hour long study group Tom held in the library right before lunch on Saturdays.

Tom Riddle was an evil, murderous bastard in the future, but he had been a _frighteningly_ studious person in his days at Hogwarts. In addition to the seven classes he was already taking and the study group he ran and the Knight meetings he had to be holding at _some point,_ he also did an independent study of Alchemy on Saturday afternoons that lasted a little over three hours. Harry knew for a fact that Tom wasn’t holding his Knight meetings _then_ because they always flocked to _him_ during it.

The one time he’d wanted to ask about it, Cassius had looked at him, given him a knowing little smirk, and explained that _“no one, under any circumstance”_ was to bother Tom during his Alchemy class.

Aside from the fact that he’d been shoved into the middle of a social life with a bunch of studious Slytherins was the fact that they really _focused_ on homework when they did it. The only chatter that went around were questions and debates about the assignment in question, and they didn’t allow general socializing to distract them, much like Ron and Hermione tended to.

Harry loved them both, he really did. They were his _very best_ friends, but now that he was learning what it was to really _try_ to get homework done and make good grades, he was beginning to question how he’d ever gotten by before. For the most part, 1943 was ahead of the curriculum in 1997 (except for Transfigurations), so he was getting the opportunity to learn all-new material alongside a bunch of Ravenclaws decked in emerald. Even more luckily for him, Tom bloody Riddle seemed to be the very _definition_ of the word ‘scholarly’, so it made learning and studying all the more easier.

Another thing that he really liked about the past was that he was just Harry- Hadrian really, but the name they knew him by made little difference. Hadrian Peverell was known as the new kid; a bit odd for transferring in at such a random time, a bit awe-inspiring due to his lineage, but that was it. There was no “Chosen One” title hanging over his shoulders, no war to have to fight (just, two to prevent).

None of the Slytherins he hung out with, Tom taking-eight-classes-and-studying-all-the-time-nothing-but-Outstanding-grades-ever Riddle included, ever made a big deal about anything he did or said. Sure, there was some excitement those first few days when they were getting to know him, and when he’d admitted to killing a basilisk (which, thinking of, was Tom still suspicious of that???), but that was about it.

That meant that, unlike in 1997, his sleeping habits went uncriticized and unquestioned. (Actually, scratch that. He was pretty sure Tom was bemused by it all, but he hadn’t _said_ anything yet.) Regardless, they probably assumed that large amounts of sleeping was a part of who he was, and they were always more than happy to catch him up on anything he might have missed when he joined them for their nightly homework sessions.

Quite honestly, it was a rather refreshing change of pace from what he was used to. Both unexpectedly and perplexedly, being in the past was giving him a lot of introspection for the present and his own future, something he’d never dreamed would happen when he took the mission on. Rather than dreading having to be around Tom Riddle and simultaneously figure out how he was supposed to stop him from becoming Voldemort, he found himself looking forward to the shift in time each day instead.

Harry avoided having to think too much about what that might say about him, though. He wasn’t too sure he really wanted to know.

 

 

The next time Harry opened his eyes, it was to Ben carefully shaking his shoulder and insisting that it was almost dinnertime, and that he needed to get up soon if he didn't want to miss it entirely.

"We're really sorry about not waking you up for the rest of classes," Ben said apologetically, watching avidly as Harry sat up, stretched, and fumbled for his glasses- which, as usual, were set on his nightstand. "You looked really peaceful, and Tom said that you wouldn't be missing much because we're _still_ working on the wordless sticking charms and you mastered that a couple of days ago."

Harry yawned in response. "That's fine, he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "I didn't miss anything else, did I? How did Transfigurations go? Same as usual?"

Ben rolled his eyes with a small huff. "What do _you_ think?" he asked in amusement. "Trust me, you haven't missed anything with that."

Harry nodded, fighting off another yawn. He was a bit disappointed that he'd missed both of his other classes for the day- _not to even mention countless other hours-_ but he had to grudgingly admit that sleeping for so long seemed to abate a lot of the lag he'd been feeling for the past few days, leaving him feeling much more refreshed and alert.

"So did you get the short stick?" he asked curiously, slowly getting to his feet and stretching once more. "Or did you volunteer to come wake me up?"

Ben shrugged. "I offered. Even if Tom _would_ approve of you getting some sleep for once, it wouldn't do for you to start missing too many meals either."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say in response to that, so there was silence for a few minutes as the two of them headed upstairs to the common room, then out to the main dungeons of the castle. It was only then that Ben spoke once more.

"We're going to be doing something different tonight," he said slowly. "Instead of eating in the great hall with everyone else, we're going to take our food back to the common room. Usually we go elsewhere, but, well, that location's a surprise since we're having your party in there tomorrow."

"Oh," Harry murmured, blinking rapidly a few times in surprise. "I- Why didn't we do that last week then?" Instead of going to this 'secret location' (which was beginning to look more and more like the Chamber of Secrets all the time), they had eaten in the Hall.

"You were still too new," Ben explained, grinning. "We have to give you a good week to really settle in, you know?"

"Nobody gets suspicious though?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowing curiously. If it were in _his_ time, he'd waste no time in thinking that Malfoy were up to no good if _he_ just suddenly started taking his meals out of the great hall every Friday night. "I mean, it's kind of weird, isn't it?"

"Nah." Ben shrugged off the question easily, giving Harry a glance that was full of amusement. "What's there to suspect, anyway? We've all got good enough grades for the most part, and the teachers all probably think we're just doing a private in-house study group. Which, they're not entirely wrong, you know."

Harry thought on that for a moment. "You've got a point," he mused. "With Tom's reputation, no one would _think_ to suspect him of anything."

"And even if they _did,"_ Ben stressed, implicating Dumbledore in his statement, "what can they do about it? It's not in the school rules that students _have_ to eat in the great hall, and it would be stupid to add it in now."

"You're right," Harry conceded.

"Of course I am," came Ben's prompt response. "By the way, Lucian and I were wanting to know if you'd like to join in for a scrimmage match of quidditch tonight before curfew, since there's no class or anything tomorrow."

Harry considered it for a moment, mentally going over the schedule he'd been having to draft up just to keep up with everything. Unfortunately, he'd be waking up the next morning on a Thursday in the future-present and he had defense at ten.

"Only if we can be finished by half past nine," he said apologetically. "I'm trying to keep the same sleeping schedule I've had so far."

"You can sleep in tomorrow though," Ben argued lightly, pouting mockingly. "Surely you can play just this once?"

"There's not a house match tomorrow, is there?" Harry asked, thinking quickly. Technically he'd be free _then..._ if everyone else was agreeable, of course. "We could maybe do it while Tom's doing his independent study. Plus, it'll be a bit warmer outside and more people will likely want to join in. Who all's agreed to play, anyway?"

There was silence for a good minute, and then Ben responded. "Lemme think... we've got Antonin for keeper, and me, Eli, and Paula are the chasers. Druella and Alice wanted to be beaters, and I think Nathaniel wanted to run seeker? He's the team's reserve anyway. For the second team, which you'd be on, Walburga plays keeper, and Nott, Alphard and Abraxas-" At hearing the name of Draco's grandfather to-be, Harry groaned.

Ever since Harry's first night in the past, Abraxas Malfoy had been nothing but downright hostile toward him. He could understand it to an extent because Ben and Tom _had_ made Malfoy Sr. move over for him, but still. It had been almost two weeks by then, and one would think that Abraxas could have let it go.

Ben chuckled, noticing Harry's dismay. "It won't be so bad," he said. "Those three are your chasers, and Abraxas at least is dedicated. He's not going to sabotage this game just for some petty grudge he's got against you."

"Merlin, I hope not," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway," Ben continued, "they're Chasing. Montgomery and Nancy would be the beaters if they decide to play, and that leaves you as Seeker. That _is_ your position, right?"

Harry nodded, hesitant to admit to it. If he _did_ play as seeker and played a good match, there was every chance that the Slytherins would very well want to recruit him to their team for the rest of the term, no matter _what_ Dippet had to say on the matter. And quite honestly, Harry wasn't so sure he could be enthused about the idea. It had nothing to do with the fact of exactly _which_ house he would be playing for, and everything to do with the fact that he wasn't very sure he could handle much more stress over his shoulders.

"It is," he finally said neutrally. "Despite the fact that I'll have to worry about Malfoy for the entirety of the game, I'm looking forward to playing. Tomorrow really _would_ be best though, so we could go for a few rounds if everyone wants to."

If he was lucky, almost the entirely of Tom's inner circle (the ones who weren't playing, and sans Cassius of course) would join them outdoors. That way, he would be seen socializing with them, fitting in, and maybe _just maybe,_ more trustworthy. And with Tom not being around, he had the added bonus of potentially learning more about the secretive dark lord to-be.

"This could work," Ben hummed happily as they turned into the main corridor leading to the great hall. Harry could already smell the tantalizing aroma of dinner, could already hear the excited chatter of the students within. "Granted, tomorrow evening is also your welcoming party, so I'm not really sure the timing's really going to be the best..." He glanced over at Harry, giving him an irrevocably mischievous grin. "...Of course, better to ask forgiveness than permission, am I right?"

Harry didn't bother pointing out that permission shouldn't have to be asked in the first place, and instead forced out a small laugh and murmured out his assent.

The rest of the walk to the great hall was spent in a companionable silence, and Harry was pleased to note as they rejoined the rest of Hogwarts' student body, that they were having lamb stew for dinner. While it wasn't a particular _favorite,_ he enjoyed it well enough, especially in the wintertime.

"Hey guys," Ben greeted the moment they approached their usual place at the Slytherin table. He gestured to Harry dramatically. "Guess who I finally managed to nudge out of bed!"

"Shush," Harry quipped automatically, playfully nudging him. "Whose fault is it that I was allowed to sleep that late anyway?"

"I dunno," Lucian retorted, one corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy smirk. His brown eyes were alight with mirth, something that was rarer for the normally serious Slytherin. "You were out of it for quite some time, Hadrian. What was it, _hours?_ Tom was wondering if you wouldn't wake up if something got set off beside you or something.”

Expectantly, Harry gave Tom a pointed look.

"Hardly," Tom drawled, rolling his eyes. "As usual, you are both greatly exaggerating the circumstances. I did almost place a silencing spell on you while we were studying, though. When you nap, you tend to create quite the ruckus with your snoring.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologized sheepishly.

Tom’s words made him wonder- if he snored, what kinds of noise did he make at night, when his consciousness seemingly spirited away to the future-present? Did he talk as he happened to then, or would it not count because he wasn’t in 1943 anymore? Or _wasn’t_ he? The thought came to mind that perhaps he really _was_ possessing someone actually named Hadrian Peverell, but he quickly dismissed it. If that were the case, Dumbledore would have warned him ahead of time, and _surely_ the real Hadrian would have done _something_ to alert Harry to his presence, right?

Hesitantly looking around the group, who were all seated, Harry sat down himself and dismissed that thought too. If he continued thinking about it, he’d only get a headache (he knew that from experience).

“We’re going to take all this to the common room and eat there, right?” he asked, reaching for one of the empty soup bowls next to the pot of stew. At first glance, it had seemed like everyone else had already loaded up their own plates. Were they waiting on him, before leaving? Because if not, them staying there but not eating didn’t make any sense.

“Yes,” Lucian confirmed, nodding. He narrowed his eyes at the single, small portion Harry had put into his bowl. “You should get more food than just that little bit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how much I have,” Harry defended, glancing down at where he’d set the soup bowl down on his plate. Admittingly, it wasn’t as much as he’d eaten before, on other days. “…I just woke up.”

“On the contrary,” Tom chimed in, utilizing his know-it-all voice, “there’s a lot wrong with your meagre serving.” He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of utter disdain. “For one, you’re too skinny to be eating so little. I know you’ve mentioned that you fly, but that’s a reason, not an excuse. For another, just waking up means all the more reason for a larger intake of calories. Not only will it aid in energizing you, it’ll also help stabilize your magical core and prevent it from going into disarray.” As if to prove a point, he took a large bite of his own supper.

Harry rolled his eyes, defiantly putting _just_ a bit more food onto his plate. “You know, I can just sneak down to the kitchens later if I’m still hungry. It doesn’t help your magical core any if you eat too much either.” He didn’t know that for a fact, but it was easy enough to guess at. Overeating gave people stomachaches anyway, so who was to stay that destabilization of one’s magical core wouldn’t also be a side effect?

“Alright,” Tom nodded once, satisfied. He stood swiftly and picked up his plate, and his innermost circle followed as if on a cue. Since they’d apparently done so for months, it probably was. Harry followed suit, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. Other than a few curious glances, no one paid them any mind as all thirteen Slytherins that made up Tom’s inner circle (minus Tom, and Harry- because could he be considered inner circle at that point?) walked out of the great hall with their supper.

The trip back to the Slytherin part of the castle seemed to take a lot less time than Harry’s and Ben’s walk to the great hall had, but it was probably because Tom was with them this time. He was always at the head of the group, and it was clear that he was the one in charge and setting their pace. In next to no time at all, they were all settling down in the common room beside the large ornate fireplace and tucking into their meals. Chatter was at a pleasant slow lull, until Ben brought up the tentative quidditch match.

“Hadrian had the idea that we might wait until tomorrow to do the quidditch match,” he announced to their group. “Because it’s bound to be warmer in the afternoon, and more people will want to watch or join in.”

Tom clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Count me out,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I have my alchemy class to attend to.”

From where he was leisurely curled up on the couch with his dinner plate balanced on his lap, Abraxas Malfoy was nodding slowly. “That could work,” he muttered, an expression of discontentment flashing over his features. “I take it that means that we’ve finalized the teams, then?”

Ben grinned. “Yup!” he confirmed cheerfully. “I think so!”

“I’ll be able to do it,” Lestrange agreed. “The only thing our team is missing is-”

“A seeker,” Abraxas deadpanned, glaring over at Harry. “I’m assuming _you’re_ going to fill that position, Peverell?”

Surprised that Malfoy Sr. was actually addressing him, Harry turned his attention to him and met his icy gaze evenly. “I might, yeah,” he said, tilting his head up slightly. It was a movement he'd always seen Malfoy, and now the other Slytherins in 1943 do, and now that he was a member of their house, he could recognize the gesture for what it was- a secondary defense. "What's it to you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Nothing," he murmured smoothly. "One just has to wonder if you even know how to play at all; while it would guarantee the other team a win, I highly doubt Walburga would appreciate a direct sabotage."

Harry bristled. "I'm ten times the seeker you'll ever be," he retorted, his fist clenching harder around his fork.

Malfoy looked thoroughly unimpressed and simultaneously repulsed. "I suppose you are," he drawled, a trademark Malfoy sneer curling on his lips. "Considering that I play chaser for the team, and have little to no desire to spend the entirety of the game looking for a worthless little ball that might not even secure the win for the team."

"It almost always does though," Alphard Black piped up, rolling his eyes. From the sound of his tone, they'd rehashed the argument several times already before. "I've told you, it's only in rare cases that it doesn't."

Malfoy brushed aside Alphard's words, continuing on with his rant. "Even if you _can_ supposedly play, one would think that you would at least have enough respect for the game to know who plays what position in our House at the very _least."_ He outright glared at Harry, his eyes skimming over him in an almost accusing fashion. "Then again..." he smirked. "Your features are far too soft to be of _noble_ standing, aren't they? One can't expect someone as _improper_ as yourself to pick up on such.... nuances, so easily, can they?"

"Abraxas." The single utterance from Tom was enough to shut Malfoy senior up, his tone dangerous.

Malfoy winced, then froze in the next heartbeat. Around them, everyone else had fallen silent. For several moments, possibly minutes, nobody said anything. Finally, Malfoy spoke, his tone hesitant and small.

"Y-yes?"

Tom turned his attention from where it had been focused on his food to Abraxas, his features cold and unforgiving. "You would do well to watch your tongue," he admonished casually, but the glare in his eyes betrayed his fury. "One might think you were... _implying_ something."

"I wasn't!" Malfoy said quickly, his face paling. "I just- I only meant- I was only meaning to say that Peverell should know by now that I'm-"

“On the brink of failing two of your classes?” Tom quipped, not missing a beat. His grip on his fork had tightened enough that his knuckles were almost white. “Because you’re absolutely right Abraxas, he _should_ know that he’s better than you.”

Malfoy made a small choking noise, his mouth dropping open slightly and his eyes widening in shock. “I-” he began, falling silent when Tom’s glare intensified.

"It's fine," Harry piped up, his voice sounding impossibly loud among his silent housemates. He inhaled deeply, then released his breath slowly. "Malfoy's right, to an extent. If I really do fancy myself a dedicated quidditch player, I'd at least know who my house's teammates are. He didn't mean anything bad by it." Even as he said it though, the words left an almost sour taste on his tongue. Malfoy had meant _plenty_ by his statement, but Harry didn’t want what was supposed to be a quiet night in with his newer housemates to come to blows.

"It's fine," he repeated when Tom looked over at him with an inquisitive expression on his face. He could tell by Tom's too-tense posture that Abraxas Malfoy had posed an issue a few times in the past, had probably been one of the students that had thrown Tom's less than perfect heritage in his face.

Dipping his head only slightly in a nod, Tom returned to his dinner without another word. Slowly, everyone else around him followed suit and got back to eating their supper, noise and chatter slowly picking back up. Harry glanced over in Malfoy's direction once, only to be met with a furious glower. Realizing that their not-quite-feud hadn't ended yet, Harry sighed and returned his attention back to his own food.

"Don't worry too much about him," Lucian advised quietly from his spot on Harry's left. "You probably haven't picked up on this yet, but he's just jealous of you because you have a higher standing in our circle than he does."

“I shouldn’t, though,” Harry pointed out, somewhat irate at that fact. “If he’s been your friend for longer, he shouldn’t be excommunicated like this.”

Ben snorted. “Yeah _right,”_ he mocked in a tone that wasn't as quiet as it probably should have been, considering that the person in question was sitting only a few feet away. “’Braxas is always putting one foot in his mouth anyway, and he’s constantly falling in and out of favor. I’m pretty sure the only reason he _has_ any standing in our circle is because his family is part of the Sacred 28. Of course, a lot of us are, but-”

“That’s beside the point,” Lucian jumped in. “Regardless, he’s not a person you should be too terribly focused on.”

"Alright," Harry agreed begrudgingly, thinking. An idea struck, and he went with it. He didn't know a lot about Wizarding politics or hierarchy, and this could be a prime opportunity to learn. Better yet, it would provide some insight to Tom's followers, and potentially even Tom himself.  "What does being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight have to do with anything?" he asked, inflecting his tone to sound curious. "And what even are the Sacred Twenty Eight? Are they important?"

"The Sacred Twenty-Eight are a collection of Noble wizarding families that have been established since nearly the beginning," Tom's quiet baritone sounded from where he was lounging on the couch across from Harry. "It consists of a lot of families, like the Parkinsons and the Malfoys, and the Blacks. They're considered very important, to most of society, anyway."

"But _why_ are they so noble?" Harry asked, cocking his head a little to the side. "What makes them so special?"

"It's because we're better than the likes of you!" Abraxas snapped, setting his fork down on his plate, where it connected with a loud _ting._ "We're _purebloods,_ the very last of any _true_ wizards in Britain, and it's because of scum like _you_ that our existence is being threatened!"

"Abraxas!" Ben gasped indignantly, but Lucian, always the calm one, shushed him.

"No, he’s right," he said slowly, turning his head to fix a solemn gaze on Harry. "It is because of breeding with muggles that purebloods are becoming more rare. I don't really agree that you're scum of course, and it's not you that's the problem Hadrian. You can't help your heritage."

Abraxas glowered at him triumphantly, and in that moment, Harry was sure that he hated him more than he did anyone else in existence.

And that included Tom bloody Riddle, who had gone on in the future to become Lord Voldemort and kill his parents.

"Breeding with muggles is _necessary,"_ Harry snapped, needing to argue his case. "I know what happens when wizarding families inbreed, and it's horrible! Everyone suffers because of it!”

"You make a good point, Hadrian," Tom said smoothly. "I have to agree. It's pathetic what some families have become, due to the ridiculous amount of inbreeding between the pureblooded families."

Harry appraised Tom curiously for a good minute, wondering where he _really_ stood in this. He sounded genuine, but then, Tom had always been a good actor. Who was to say that this wasn't just part of the facade?

"Well I disagree! With both of you!" Ben defended hotly, shooting a glare at Malfoy, then at Tom. "Hadrian is a better wizard than you'll ever be, Abraxas, and you're just saying that because you're _jealous!_ And as for _you,_ there’s _nothing_ wrong with my family!”

"I did not say that there was, Benjamin," Tom retorted evenly, his lips curling in a cruel smirk. "It says a lot if you thought that was a jab directed at you, though." Ben flushed and looked away from him, clearly finished with the conversation. Unfortunately for him, it was far from over.

"You wanna run that by me again?" Malfoy challenged lowly, drawing his wand in one fluid motion. With his free hand, he picked up his plate and set it down on the long table in between the two couches.

“Yeah; Hadrian’s better than you are by a long shot!” Ben snapped, mimicking Malfoy’s actions and getting to his feet. “And I’m tired of you bad mouthing him all the time and being rude, especially since he’s done nothing to you!”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he slowly got up. "Duel me, then," he said, inflecting his tone to sound just as haughty as Draco always had in the future-present. "Right here, right now."

"Fine!"

Harry glanced around the rest of the group to find that for the most part, they were tensed in excitement at the prospect of a fight. Even Tom, though he seemed more bored than anything, didn't look at all like he was going to do anything to stop it.

"Guys, I really don't think-"

"Hadrian," Lucian interrupted quietly. He shook his head slowly at Harry. "This is not your place," he murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder. "If Benjamin has decided to defend your honor, this is his fight to either win or lose. Should he win, Abraxas won't be a bother to you anymore. Should he lose..." Lucian let the thought trail off, his tone becoming irrevocably more solemn somehow.

Harry's heart sank. "What's going to happen to him?" he asked, glancing over to where his two housemates had moved away from where they were dining to a more open part of the common room.

There was no possible way this could end well.

Lucian shrugged. "It's hard to know," he responded honestly. "Whatever Malfoy claims for his win."

“Just enjoy the show,” Lestrange said, grinning madly. “I know I will.”

Arella Parkinson sniffed in disdain. “Well, _I_ won’t,” she announced, standing. “I’m going to finish my supper in my room. Join me Druella, Walburga?”

Both girls, who had only conversed quietly among themselves up to this point, agreed. Together, the three witches left, ducking around the area Abraxas and Ben had decided to make their battleground.

“I’ll be the ref,” Cassius volunteered cheerfully, putting his plate down on the table and standing. “Have you decided on the terms yet?”

Alphard rolled his eyes. “You’re _blind,”_ he pointed out, as if the fact wasn’t already known and glaringly obvious. “No way will you be able to tell who’s going to win.”

Slowly, Cassius tuned his head so he was looking right into Alphard’s eyes. “Of course not,” he replied, smirking in that creepy way that he tended to. “The duel isn’t a very good idea anyway, no? Your time would be much better spent studying for the surprise quiz we’re going to have in astronomy next Thursday.”

Alphard’s eyes narrowed accusingly. “There won’t be a test.”

Cassius’ grin widened. “Whatever you say,” he said with a shrug. “As pleasant as this has been, boys, I _do_ see the need to be well prepared. I’m going down to the room.” Before he left, he paused and turned back to face them.

“One other thing… Abraxas, stand down, would you? Benjamin beats you in the most humiliating manner with the Jelly-legs, and even if you _don’t_ duel… you wouldn’t want to risk _disfavour,_ would, you?” He cocked his head innocently, savoring each of the words that fell off his tongue. Harry got the feeling that Cassius was at odds with Malfoy just as much as he was.

“And how do I know you’re not just lying to me?” Abraxas snapped in response, turning his wand on him instead.

To Harry’s now non-surprise, the motion didn’t seem to faze Cassius in the slightest. "I could be," he replied, lilting his tone listlessly. "You would never know that, would you Abraxas? In the end, it all comes down to this- whose word will be better believed, hmm? Yours or mine?" He straightened his posture fully, giving Malfoy a triumphant smirk. "Just some food for thought." With that, he swiftly made his departure.

For several moments, no one said a word. It seemed like everyone was frozen where they sat (or stood, in Abraxas and Ben's case), awaiting some kind of response from Malfoy. Finally, they got it.

"Tch, if he seriously thinks that's enough to make me step back, he's got another thing coming!" Abraxas sneered, pointing his wand at Benjamin once more. "Antonin! Come ref, will you? I want someone _reliable_ to be able to make the call when I've won."

A fifth year that Harry hadn't yet really become acquainted with yet started in surprise. "O-oh, uh- that's not...Tom?" He looked to the young dark lord to-be helplessly, seeking guidance from his leader. Curiously, Harry looked over at Tom too.

Tom hadn't moved an inch once throughout the entire argument. He was still lounged in a casual yet regal manner upon the couch, his legs crossed and his arms resting over the back of the couch. His expression was impassive, giving away nothing.

It was impressive, Harry had to admit, how much control he showed when he really tried. _This_ was a Tom Riddle he could see wizards flocking to in his time, a Tom Riddle that would have led well, if given the chance.

So then... where had it all gone wrong?

Presumably, the moment Tom Riddle had lost himself and any true potential had been when he'd created his first Horcrux- the diary. Dumbledore had said it had been in Tom’s fifth year, hadn't it?

That couldn't possibly be right though, because he was a sixth year now, and Myrtle was still alive.

Harry decided to revisit that thought at another time. It would be a good to bring it up with Dumbledore and grasp his bearings on exactly where in the timeline he was and plan to prevent any deaths from happening.

In all of his thinking, he'd missed anything that Tom had said to his followers, but the end result was plain to see: Abraxas had sulkily retreated, presumably to the dorms, and Ben had rejoined them. He wasn't smiling though, and looked rather put out at his chance to duel Abraxas apparently being thwarted.

"-really mate, you didn't need to challenge him like that," Lucian told Ben in a low tone. "If you're not careful, you're going to get yourself into even more trouble."

"You would do well to listen to Nott more frequently, Benjamin," Tom added dismissively. He'd set aside his dinner in favor of taking out a book, and he looked as if his followers nearly getting into an argument had annoyed him greatly.

Thinking briefly on it, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he were. Tom was the kind of person that enjoyed it when attention was focused solely on him, so it made sense if his followers fighting over _him_ would annoy Tom.

"We should get started on homework, then," Alphard announced. By that point, everyone seemed to be collectively finished with their supper, and so it wasn't hard to make the shift from eating to studying.

Mostly everyone in the group agreed, with the exception of Lestrange, who promptly announced that he had better things to do with his time, and left. The remaining seven Slytherins got to work silently, once more only speaking up when they had a specific question pertaining to an assignment.

At half past eight, Harry paused from where he was nearly finished with an essay for defense and announced that he was going to head off to bed. He still technically had half an hour before he _really_ needed to go to sleep, but he'd formed the habit of taking the time in the evening to prepare for bed and settle his mind. It was more effective than staying awake until he couldn't think straight anymore, and made for an easier shift to the future-present than he would have otherwise.

As Harry showered, he allowed his mind to drift.

While he wasn't sure he was quite ready to admit it, he was enjoying his time in the past a great deal more than he'd anticipated. His Slytherin housemates were much more like his Gryffindor friends in the future-present than he'd ever thought they could be, and with a few character exceptions aside, they were beginning to grow on him.

Tom was a bit problematic at times, but he'd proven rather effectively that he was open to discussing and debating different sides to an idea, and that alone gave Harry the hope that it wasn't too late to change him from the course that Fate seemed to have planned out for him.

Abraxas Malfoy and Cassius Rosier, on the other hand... they were another two matters altogether. While Cassius wasn't hostile toward Harry at all, he had this air of omniscience about him, a thinly veiled threat that he could and _would_ destroy anyone he deemed an opponent without a second thought.

Abraxas was almost the complete opposite.

He’d seemed to have it out for Harry right from the very start, and it appeared that nothing he did or said would change that easily. Harry tried to leave him alone for the very most part, he really did, but some confrontations were just unavoidable like that. Add on the fact that it was once more a _Malfoy_ that had become his rival, and he really couldn't be blamed for it.

 _Regardless..._ Harry frowned. Even if Abraxas _wasn't_ his favorite person in the world, it wouldn't be the best idea to be on his bad side. Malfoy was still a part of Tom's inner circle, no matter how distant, and Harry needed all the sources he could get if he were going to make this mission a success.

Even if they didn't know they were helping him at the time.

One he'd finished his shower, Harry quickly dressed and made short work of his final preparations to go to bed. After what had felt like a long day, despite napping for several hours earlier, he still felt exhausted. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep.

 

 

In what seemed like no time at all, Harry was waking up to the familiar red hangings of his four poster in Gryffindor tower. For a good few minutes he took the time to simply breathe and adjust to being back in the present once more. His mind was completely zoned, and everything felt irrevocably surreal.

The dorm room was silent, a surefire sign that everyone else had already gone to breakfast or they were already in class. Given the time that Harry was used to waking up at recently, he assumed that the answer was an in-between of the two.

After what felt like a lifetime had passed, Harry finally forced himself to get up and begin preparing for the day. He dressed quickly and made sure all of his books and half-completed assignments were tucked away safely in his bag. As he did so, his mind wandered.

In an odd limbo between times, there’d been a long pause- a moment where he’d actually _dreamed._

Since Harry had first begun traversing back and forth nearly two weeks ago, aside from the rare flash when he napped, he hadn’t dreamed once. And now that he finally had… he couldn’t even remember it. Everything had been a confusing blur; darkness, and a flash of gold.

Brushing his thoughts of the odd dream aside, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the Gryffindor dorms. It was probably nearly time for class, and he’d need to hurry if he was going to nab a quick bite from the kitchens.

Besides, Harry decided resolutely as he walked down the steps of Gryffindor Tower, it wasn’t like the dream had meant anything anyway.


	5. The Hint of a Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest of thanks to Alex for betaing once more, and another thanks to each and every one of you for reading and giving this fic your love. It means the world to me that this is loved <3

"Good morning guys," Harry said, gasping for breath as he reached the spot where they usually ate. He took a seat beside Ron and picked up a piece of toast, biting into it without taking the time to slather some jam on.

"Morning mate," Ron muttered, bumping his shoulder against Harry's lightly. "Can't say that there's much good about it, though."

"Good morning Harry," Hermione greeted in a faux cheerful voice, resolutely not looking in Ron's direction. "Been a while since you've been able to attend breakfast with us. Have you been sleeping well?"

"Er-" Harry fumbled for a moment, not really knowing what blend of the truth to tell her. On the one hand, he could explain that he'd been getting up early to study some things that Dumbledore had assigned him (which technically wasn't a lie, right?), or he could lie and go the easier route by telling her that he was having nightmares about the Department of Mysteries. As a bonus, before Dumbledore had given him the mission of going into the past, it wouldn't have been a lie either, so neither Hermione nor Ron would think to question him about it further.

He dropped his tone, adopting a more melancholy sound. "It's been so-so," he replied, pausing in eating his toast. "Ever since last year... I've just- been trying to distract myself, is all. Do homework and study. That kind of thing. Dumbledore's also been working pretty intensively with me on something that can help us turn the tides in this war."

Hermione's expression softened. "Oh, of course, I hadn't realized... have you thought about a dreamless sleep every once in a while? Have you been trying to occlude at night? I read that aside from protecting your mind from You-Know-Who's visions, it's also supposed to protect the Occluder from bad dreams."

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly.  "I haven't tried either of those," he admitted. "I've heard that dreamless sleep tends to get addictive, and I'm rather pants at occlumency still."

"Hmmm," Hermione looked contemplative. "It might be a good idea for you to try getting back into it. You never know when it'll come in handy."

"She's right," Ron chimed in, nodding vigorously. He seemed to have forgotten that he and Hermione weren't on speaking terms for the moment, caught up in worrying about Harry as he was. "'Specially if You-Know-Who decides to try giving you visions again. We don't want a repeat of last year, mate."

"You don't need to tell me twice," he replied, his chest growing warm with a rush of fondness for his two friends. "I don't know who'd teach me, though.  I don't trust Snape going in my mind after what happened the last time he tried to 'teach' me."

Hermione pursed her lips, but Harry had caught her there. She knew exactly how lessons with Snape had gone last year, so there wasn't a valid argument she could make for why he should train under Snape once more.

"You should get some more breakfast," she prodded instead, deftly switching the subject with a frown. "You look far too tired, and you've been neglecting your health too much lately."

Harry resigned himself to admitting that she was right, and loaded up a plate with some scrambled eggs and porridge, digging in after giving Hermione a pointed look that clearly asked _'are you happy now?'._

"During our free period, would you like to accompany me to the library to do some research, Harry?" Hermione asked, placing an emphasis in that while it seemed that Ron was almost willing to be friendly with her once more, the feeling was very much not reciprocated.

"Oh, er-" Harry began hesitantly, but was almost immediately cut off by an irate Ron.

"Might as well go on then," he muttered, leaning around Harry and shooting Hermione a dark glare. "Lav Lav was wanting to take a walk around the grounds with me anyway."

"Well then, _Won Won,"_ Hermione automatically retorted, looking around Harry to match his glare, "perhaps you should get going then; wouldn't want to keep _Lav Lav_ waiting."

Not knowing what else to do, Harry kept his head low and his eyes on his food before him, not wanting to insert himself into what was probably the tenth fight for this  week.

"Maybe I will!" Ron abruptly stood, slung his rucksack over his shoulder, and stormed out of the great hall without looking back once. A few students scattered around at their House tables turned to watch in interest, and Harry could hear a few snickers from the Slytherins.

Fed up with the constant fighting between his friends that had somehow become the new normal, Harry sighed. He glanced over at Hermione to ask why she’d felt the need to continue to purposefully push Ron away, but held his tongue when he noticed her lower lip slightly trembling. His resigned expression softened and he opened his mouth to ask if she was alright, but she brushed him off before he could.

“You should finish your breakfast Harry,” Hermione mumbled, turning back to her own. She wouldn’t quite meet his probing gaze, and she ate her meal with a focus Harry hadn’t seen since the OWLs. “Then we can go to the library together, yeah? Research the horcruxes. I’m sure we’ll find something if we put our minds together. You’ll be able to use your cloak to get into the restricted section, right?”

“Oh, er-” Harry paused, unsure of how exactly he was supposed to break it to her that his invisibility cloak was some odd fifty-four years in the past, locked away in the Slytherin dorms. “I…can’t,” he confessed, feeling suddenly guilty in his decision to leave it there. “I…loaned it to Dumbledore. He wanted to study it some, thinks it might hold some sort of clue that could help us defeat Voldemort.”

“Oh… okay,” Hermione responded, looking rather put-out. “I suppose disillusionment charms could work too, at least long enough for me to sneak a couple of books into my bag to look at later. You don’t suppose Madame Pince put up detection spells, do you?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied honestly, his mind wandering to Tom Riddle and how _he’d_ managed to get his hands on books about horcruxes. He’d just talked to the librarian, right? So maybe, since Hermione was a good student herself, she might be willing to give her unrestricted access to the forbidden section too? Only flaw in that plan, Harry belatedly realized a minute later, was that there’d been a different librarian in charge at the time.

“If we got a slip signed by Professor Dumbledore saying that we have permission to go in there, do you think we’d be able to?” Hermione asked suddenly, her eyes lighting up with the excitement of a potential solution.

“Maybe,” Harry agreed, although he wasn’t so sure that they would. For all of Dumbledore’s stress that their mission to understand Voldemort to be able to successfully defeat him was the priority, he wasn’t so sure that the headmaster would appreciate probing questions on if he and Hermione could get access to the restricted section for research. Even if it _was_ related to, as Dumbledore put it, ‘understanding Tom Riddle’.

Harry and Hermione finished up their breakfast in a companionable silence, then made their way to the library together. Along the way, they made small talk; Hermione would ask him about how he was finding classes and homework, and he would come up with some sort of response that wasn’t the truth and wasn’t a lie. For reasons that neither of them were going to acknowledge at that point in time, they carefully kept the conversation away from potions and Ron. It was a stilted interaction because of it, and Harry knew that Hermione must’ve felt just as awkward as he did.

The library wasn’t as crowded as usual, due to it being early morning, which was a fact Harry was grateful for. Madam Pince still gave them the stink eye when they came in, but he found he wasn’t as bothered by it as he used to be. When compared to Norris, the cranky old librarian seemed sweet and Grandmotherly- albeit, only if that grandmother were Augusta Longbottom.

“I can’t really think of what books we’d need to look in, quite honestly,” Hermione confessed as she wandered along a bookshelf, trailing her fingers over the spines almost longingly. "Everything on dark magic is hard to get our hands on without some form of explicit permission, and everything that we _can_ easily access is far too vague to be of any use."

"Do you think it might be like first year all over again?" Harry asked, following her.

Hermione had already pulled off a few tomes for some startup research, and handed them off to him to hold. It was times like then that Harry wished most of all that the Hogwarts library had a basket of some sort, or something similar for the students to place their books in while they were still busy grabbing them for reference. Of course, there was always the easy option of levitating the books over to their workspace (it would certainly be an easy enough feat for a witch as skilled as Hermione was), but she'd already quietly told him that she didn't want to risk anyone trying to figure out what they were researching.

"That's always a possibility," Hermione agreed thoughtfully. "Although, I'm not sure how we could be looking in the wrong places. Voldemort's focus has always been on more dark magics, so I don't see how the you-know-what's could be located anywhere else. Not to mention, Dumbledore has straight up told you that they're a type of dark magic. I think it's just that we can't access the material. You're working with him later on tonight, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry lied, shifting the weight of the books in his arms slightly. While he hadn't been summoned to the headmaster's office that night for another trip through memory lane, it was still important for him to have a good cover story in case anyone happened to ask after him.

"Perfect," Hermione declared. She grabbed a book seemingly at random and placed it on top of the stack, turning to face him fully. "You can just ask him for permission to go into the restricted section tonight, then!"

"Right," Harry agreed once more, this time a bit less enthusiastic than he had been. While it certainly shouldn't have been a bother, going to ask him for the small favor (bonus points that it would logically help him with his mission), he still couldn't help but hesitate. Was it really worth bugging Dumbledore over? He was likely to be busy, and probably wouldn't want to be bothered with his small troubles.

"-rry! Are you even listening to me?" Hermione snapped her fingers a few times in front of his face, abruptly refocusing his attention to the task at hand.

Right, books. Horcruxes. That was more important at the moment than his indecision over going to ask Dumbledore for help.

"Sorry 'Mione," he apologized, his cheeks flushing a little in his embarrassment. "What was that?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed, pulling out another book and setting it on top of the stack in his arms. "I _said,_ if going to Dumbledore doesn't work out, maybe we can ask one of the other professors. I can't see them saying no if we tell them it's for a research project."

"They could still say no," Harry disagreed, hefting the books a little higher in his arms in an attempt to rearrange them. They were starting to get really uncomfortable, and he dearly hoped that they would make their way over to a table sooner rather than later.

"Hmmmm." She stared at the books he was holding for a good minute, as if somehow _they_ would be able to give her the permission she needed to get into the restricted section.

"Maybe..." she began slowly, her gaze moving up to meet Harry's confused one, "maybe we just aren't looking in the right places. You're Slughorn's favorite student, perhaps he'll give you a pass into the restricted section if you ask." Her tone and smile alike had an undertone of bitterness, and it was almost enough to make Harry feel guilty about the circumstances behind it.

"I could try that," he mumbled, though in reality, he had little intention of actually doing so. There was every chance that Slughorn would catch on to what he was trying to do if he _did_ ask, and the less similarities he had with Tom Riddle at that point, the better off he would be.

"Excellent!" Despite all her jealousy, Hermione beamed at him. She pulled off one final book and headed toward a table closer to the back of the library where they were less likely to be overheard or disturbed, and Harry followed after her, carefully balancing his stack of books and hoping they wouldn't all topple out of his arms.

For what felt like hours, Harry helped Hermione go through the stack of books in search of anything related to Horcruxes. They didn't happen to find anything, but there _were_ a few different anecdotes detailing the various attempts of different witches and wizards to gain immortality over the ages. Aside from Flamel and his success with the Philosopher's Stone, none of them had been successful.

“This just isn’t making any sense,” she told Harry, flipping quickly through the book she was going through.”How is is that Voldemort was able to get his hands on this information, but we aren’t able to?”

“Well…” Harry thought for a minute, not sure what to tell her. His mind traveled to 1945, and the most likely answer hit him. “If you think about it, the staff were completely different when he was in school,” he finally said. “And the laws have changed a lot since then, since the first war with Voldemort even. With that probably came the exodus of a lot of the sources that Tom used to create the horcruxes.”

She paused on the page she was on and looked over it a few moments longer than she had the others, then turned it much slower than she had been. “You’re probably right.”

They  paused their research shortly after Harry had come to that conclusion. In the midst of their reading, they’d lost track of time and missed over half of Herbology, something that Hermione was not pleased about, at all.

“I should have been paying better attention,” she muttered as she sorted through the pile of books they’d accumulated earlier. “I hope we weren’t doing anything too important!”

“I doubt it,” Harry pointed out, trying to help her in any way possible, even if just by attempting to reassure. “The last time we were in there, we were just going over theory. If we weren’t supposed to continue that today, then we would have moved onto physical studies. It’s nothing we can’t make up.”

Hermione huffed a little in surprise, pausing in her restacking of the books to look at him as if it were the first time she were truly seeing him.

“You’re right…” she said slowly, her head tilting curiously. “We _can_ make it up.”

“It’s not a new thing,” Harry said with a shrug. “Not like I wasn’t supposed to make up assignments that I’ve missed before.”

“That’s true,” Hermione said, a small grin tugging at her lips. “This might be the first time I’ve ever heard you suggest it though, rather than me having to try and prod you into doing it. It’s a refreshing change of pace. What brought it on?”

“I just feel like it’s about time that I start taking everything more seriously,” Harry lied. He truthfully hadn’t thought that it would really _mean_ anything if he suggested making up the assignment later, but he supposed it was just another thing that had slipped his mind in translation.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that Tom’s study habits _had_ to be rubbing off on him if they were following him to the present time. He chose to push that thought aside for the time being though, all too aware that he was beginning to zone out again, lost in the midst of his own thoughts.

“That’s a good mindset to have!” Hermione beamed at him, pride reflecting in her eyes. “A little bit late, maybe, but I’ll make a studious person out of you yet!”

“Maybe,” Harry agreed teasingly, feeling a slight twinge of discomfort at the knowledge that Hermione had very little to do with how he’d started to care a little more about the work he did in classes.

It was an indescribable feeling, the one he got every time he received a paper back in the past that was marked with an O. With the exception of Transfigurations, the material was ahead of where they were in the present by a good amount, and it filled him with a great sense of pride and accomplishment to know that he’d earned the grade on his own, that he’d _learned_ the material rather than just _seen_ it.

And inexplicably, it filled him with something bittersweet to know that it wasn’t the same in the present, that his grades (with the exception of Defense) could never be attributed to just _him_ because he’d never shown his schoolwork the same amount of care that he did in 1943.

Shaking off the multitude of thoughts and emotions that plagued him, Harry returned his focus back to the task at hand. Hermione had piled their books into three separate stacks, one for the books they’d already gone through, one _much_ smaller one for the books they were currently working on, and another larger one for the books they had yet to touch.

“Help me put these up?” Hermione asked, looking at him expectantly. She was holding _another_ stack of books, the rest of what they’d already gone through, it looked like. It gave Harry a headache just to look at all of them; he hadn’t been under the impression that they’d really read all that much in such a short span of time.

“You’d be surprised at just how quickly you can research when you put your mind to it,” Hermione teased.

Harry opened his mouth to ask how she’d known, then flushed and promptly shut it again when he realized that he must have said that last thought out loud.

“Yeah…” he muttered, letting the word trail off for lack of anything better to say. He grabbed the other stack of ‘completed’ books, and stepped around Hermione.

An awkward silence fell, and as they went about putting up their respective stacks of books. Harry supposed that he could have made some small talk, maybe brought up an assignment that they had due for Transfigurations the next day, perhaps asked her what her plans were for the evening, but he didn’t.

Life, he was beginning to learn, was a continuous cycle of meaning to do something and then never getting it done.

There was an extremely strict limit as to how many books a single student could check out at a time, so even though Hermione had been given just a little more leniency by the strict librarian in the more recent years, it was still a challenge figuring out exactly who was going to check out what. Not that it would really matter in the end, since both of them knew that Hermione would end up taking over most of the research herself. Harry would still help out where he could, of course, but the simple fact of the matter was that he just wasn’t as quick as she was when it came to small things like research.

Even if the topic _did_ interest him. Horcruxes, as morbid as they were by their very nature, were an interesting topic, and it only helped that it pertained so well to his mission.

Once they’d finished up in the library, Harry and Hermione made their way to the Gryffindor tower. It wasn’t likely that there would be too many students in there yet because of how classes tended to fall, and anyone that _would_ be in the common room was likely to be silently working on homework.

For a solid moment Harry wondered why they couldn’t have just stayed in the library if they were only going to settle down in the common room, but he brushed off the thought. His bag was fairly heavy now that it was full of books, and it would be nice to take a breather in a place that was familiar to him for once.

Instead of staying in the common room like Harry had thought they would, Hermione followed him up the stairs straight to his dorm room.

“We’ll have more privacy up here anyway,” she explained when he gave her a questioning look. “There might not be anyone in the common room, but there could still have been an eavesdropping charm placed by some nosy younger year.”

“Isn’t it your job to find those things out and put an end to them?” Harry asked in amusement. He set his bag down carelessly beside his bed and sat down, setting up a pillow behind him to support his back.

Hermione made herself comfortable across from him, a book already in hand. It is,” she replied as she cracked it open and began to read, this time at a much slower pace. “But then again, they’re just going to turn around and do it all over again. I’m not in the mood to take care of all that right now, and I’m not the only prefect in this house. Someone else can deal for once.”

“Are… you okay?” Harry asked after a moment of hesitation. “Usually you seem a lot more concerned about the rules than this.”

“I’m more than just a person that cares about rules, you know,” Hermione pointed out, a single brow arching. “And besides, I’m busy right now.”

Harry opened his mouth to press the issue, then shut it again a moment later. It was better not to, on a second thought. Between exams coming up that she was probably already studying for, prefect duties, and her turbulent friendship with Ron, it was no wonder Hermione seemed as stressed as she did. She might not have been assigned a secret mission to go into the past by Dumbledore, but her issues were valid all the same.

“So, horcruxes,” Hermione said, swiftly changing the topic. She held up the book she was currently reading through, this time a tome on the history of Slytherin. “You said that Voldemort made multiple?”

Harry nodded, relieved that they seemed to be moving on. Emotions were a tricky thing to deal with, and he would rather _not_ have to if he could avoid it. “From what Dumbledore says,” he replied. “He seems to think that there’s more than three for sure, and he feels like Tom would have picked a number that had magical meaning.”

“Three is a _very_ magical number,” Hermione murmured, nodding absentmindedly as she flipped a page in the book. “But there are a few others. Eight, for example, is a magical number too, though not quite as powerful. In history, it’s been connected to time and infinity, which makes sense if Voldemort’s goal was to become immortal.”

_“Eight,_ though?” Harry asked, his tone disbelieving. “That’s so many…”

“Well,” Hermione gave him a look, “it makes sense, though. From what we’ve seen, he’s hardly human anymore, so it would make sense for him to hardly have any soul left, don’t you think?”

“Point,” Harry conceded, his voice a lot weaker than he would have liked. When he tried to reconcile _Tom_ with _Voldemort,_ it was hard to imagine that they were the same person, once. He could see the sense in what Hermione was saying, though- if just _one_ horcrux was enough to impair the soul, it was no wonder Voldemort had changed so drastically from the person he used to be as a teen.

“I don’t think that’s right, though,” Hermione went on, frowning a little. “I’ve done some calculations in my spare time, and from what Dumbledore has told us, each time a horcrux is created, the soul is split in half. It would be almost impossible for Voldemort to have made five of them, much less _eight._ He couldn’t possibly have enough soul left to live!”

“So you think there’s five, then?” Harry wondered, pondering it himself. Of course, he’d never taken an Arithmancy class in his entire time at Hogwarts, and he wasn’t about to begin trying it then.

“Maybe five,” Hermione said, nodding. “And that would mean that we’ve already destroyed two of them- Tom Riddle’s diary, and the ring Dumbledore destroyed at the beginning of the year.” She made a small noise of wonder then, her eyebrows furrowing as a curious look came over her face.

“I wonder…” she hummed after a few minutes of contemplative silence. “Do you think Voldemort chose objects that were his personally, or with connections to his family?”

“That’s a possibility,” Harry agreed, nodding. “Tom didn’t really have a whole lot though, did he?”

“You’re the one that’s been seeing the memories,” Hermione pointed out. “So you’d know better than I would.”

“He didn’t own a lot of things for himself,” Harry began, thinking back. “At least, not while he was a kid. He did keep a box of things he’d taken from other kids at the orphanage he lived in, though.”

“That’s horrible,” Hermione said, her eyes narrowing. “Those poor kids, I can only think of how much he must have terrorized them, growing up.”

“Quite a bit,” Harry muttered, thinking back to the first memory he’d seen and how the caretaker of the orphanage had described Tom.

“I wouldn’t suppose that the orphanage still exists as it had,” Hermione mused thoughtfully. “Or else Dumbledore would have taken you there already, or looked into it himself.”

“I don’t think Tom would have left any of them in such an obvious place though,” Harry said. “He’s too smart for that.”

“You said Dumbledore found the ring in his mother’s old home?” Hermione asked.

“Well, yes, but the ring also cursed his hand,” Harry said.

“So they might be in obvious places, but very protected then,” Hermione mused. “It would make sense; Voldemort wouldn’t want whoever would be looking for them to be perfectly unscathed, but he would want to tease them with the knowledge that it’s in their reach.”

Harry would have gone on to concede that she was right, but the sound of approaching footsteps and voices stopped him. In their focus on the conversation, they had lost track of time once more. Classes had officially ended for the morning period, and lunchtime was soon.

Hermione, too, stiffened for just a moment before she relaxed and flipped to a completely random page in her book, shifting her pose to look much more casual than the the situation before had warranted.

“And it’s really fascinating to read about how close the founders were before Godric’s and Salazar’s infamous quarrel,” she said, just in time for the other inhabitants of Harry’s dorm to come walking in.

“Hullo Harry, we missed you in Herbology today,” Neville greeted, giving him and Hermione a respectful nod. “Same for you, Hermione. What’ve you two been up to?”

Harry glanced at Hermione for help, but the look she gave him made it clear that it was his turn to make something up.

“I wasn’t feeling very well after breakfast,” he lied. “Must have eaten something bad.”

Neville peered closer at him, worry creasing in his brow. “You don’t look very well,” he agreed. “I’m sorry to hear it, we had a lot of fun learning about Venomous Tentacula today.”

_“Fun,_ he says,” Seamus sneered in a teasing manner. “The thing nearly took my arm off!”

“Hold on, I thought we were just going over the text over them today?” Harry asked, frowning.

“That was Tuesday,” Seamus told him. “Remember?”

Harry _didn’t_ remember, once he thought about it. Between going to the past and attending classes there, and then coming back to the present and attending _more_ classes, and trying to maintain a somewhat social life in both times, he couldn’t recall what he was supposed to be learning when.

“Oh,” he said simply. “Yeah. I forgot, we _were_ going to be introduced to the plant today. Sorry Hermione.”

“It’s fine,” she dismissed. “Honestly, I should have remembered that too. We just lost track of time; I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“What’s _she_ doing in here anyhow?” Ron asked, eyeing the both of them suspiciously. He’d been silent up until then as he’d put his things up, and Harry had half hoped that the tentative peace they’d held so far would be maintained. Unfortunately, it looked like that wasn’t going to be the case.

“I was studying with Harry,” Hermione said hotly, bristling. “He invited me here.”

From out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dean and Neville exchange an uncomfortable look, and it comforted him a little to know that he wasn’t the only feeling caught in the middle by his friends’ drama.

“It was just a suggestion,” Harry piped up feebly. “There were some people talking loudly in the common room, and I said it would probably be quieter here.”

“Hermione could have sent them away,” Seamus pointed out. “She’s a prefect.”

“We’re just going to head down to the great hall for lunch,” Dean interrupted, grabbing onto Seamus’ arm and giving it a tug. Seamus looked confused and indignant for a split moment, before he looked back at Ron and Hermione and nodded fervently.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, following Dean and Neville to the door. “See you guys later.”

There was silence for a solid few minutes after they left, in which Ron stared at Harry and Hermione, Hermione glared at Ron, and Harry alternated between glancing at his best friends and looking down at his lap and wishing desperately that he was anywhere but there.

“ _Just studying,_ were you?” Ron finally asked, his tone low and tense. He crossed his arms over his chest and schooled his expression into one of indifference. “Funny, that. You’ve never missed a class to ‘study’ before. Either of you.”

“We _were_ studying!” Hermione snapped, closing her book and shoving it into her bag angrily. “Unlike _some_ people, I don’t purposefully shirk my duties to go off and lurk in the halls after hours.”

Ron’s face turned a deep shade of red that went all the way to the tips of his ears, but he didn’t say anything to deny Hermione’s accusation. “Whatever,” he muttered. “I gotta go, Lavender’s waiting for me.” He stormed out of the room, leaving them alone once more.

“We should leave too,” Harry murmured, all too aware of the way Hermione’s eyes had grown watery again, an echo of their interaction from that morning. “I’m famished.”

_“Honestly,”_ Hermione said, although she managed a weak chuckle. “Food and sleep, is that all you ever think about anymore?”

“Hard not to,” Harry joked, glad the mood seemed to already be lightening between them again. “They’re both useful for survival, don’t you know?”

“Do you want to go down to the kitchens instead?” Hermione asked, biting her lip. “It’s been a while since we’ve visited with Winky and Dobby, and I’m sure they’d be more than happy to see a couple of friendly faces again.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed easily.

After the brief, but intense exchange between them and Ron, he would be more than happy for any excuse to not have to go to the great hall for lunch. While it was true that he would miss out on getting to socialize with the rest of their extended friend group, there would always be another time for that. In that moment though, Hermione needed a friend more than anything, and she’d always been there for him in the past when no one else would. It was high time he returned the favor to her in kind.

They spent a few minutes getting ready to go and grabbing their books for their respective next classes and simultaneously unloading the books they’d grabbed from the library into Harry’s trunk. While he only had charms to attend to before another break, Hermione had to go straight from charms to muggle studies.

“I’ve made it a habit since third year to keep everything I need in my bag, but it’s nice to unload it all every once in a while,” she explained as she did just that, tucking her school supplies neatly into one corner of Harry’s trunk. “I’ll come back and get these after class, is that okay?”

“That’ll be fine,” Harry replied with a nod. “I’ll probably be asleep though, so fair warning for that.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed a little. “Asleep?” she questioned. “You were really up that late working with Dumbledore?”

“It’s complicated,” Harry dismissed as they took their own leave from the dormitory and walked downstairs. “Like I explained this morning, I’ve also been having issues with nightmares again.”

“You know, I really _do_ think you should take up occlumency again,” Hermione pressed, her voice echoing in the empty corridors. “It isn’t healthy to be this disturbed by your dreams.”

“I know, and I’ve been thinking about asking Dumbledore if he could possibly take the time to teach me” Harry lied. “He told me that he would have offered last year, if not for his suspicions that Tom would take advantage of my mind, exactly as he did in the Department of Mysteries.”

“You keep calling him Tom,” Hermione said, shifting the conversation abruptly. “Why?”

“Oh, er-” Harry thought quickly, feeling calm despite the way he should have been nervous about the prodding question. “In my sessions with Dumbledore, I’ve been learning a lot about him, and we tend to call Voldemort by his birth name a lot. It’s become a force of habit by now.”

“Hmmm….” Hermione hummed. “That makes sense. Regardless of anything though, Voldemort _did_ possess you last June. Don’t you think it might have been prevented if Dumbledore had been the one to teach you in the first place?”

“Maybe,” Harry agreed, looking at the paintings hanging on the wall so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “Dumbledore didn’t want T- Voldemort finding out about the Order, or knowing anything about his plans, so that was also at risk if he would have been the one to teach me.”

“I can’t help but think that it might not have mattered anyway,” Hermione said dubiously. “But okay.”

“Maybe we can save this for later, if you want to study again,” Harry suggested. “Do some more research on the you-know-whats. The walls have ears out here.”

Hermione glanced around quickly and nodded. “You’re right,” she conceded. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

The rest of their trip to the lower levels of the castle where the kitchens were was spent in silence, this one more companionable than the last had been. With Hermione, Harry found that it often _was_ a comfortable silence, and he appreciated that about their friendship. Where he once might have felt the need to fill the space with an endless stream of chatter, it was enough for the two of them to simply _be._

“Harry Potter!” One of the elves squeaked in surprise when they stepped through the portrait hole. “Yous has come to see us!”

“Yes,” he agreed cheerfully. “Is Dobby around?”

“Dobby is currently tending to the needs of one of the professors,” a different elf piped up. Blitzy, Harry thought her name might have been? “He will be back soon, Harry Potter, sir.”

“Can we gets yous anything?” the same first elf asked, dropping into a deep bow. “We can prepare a basket for yous and the mistress if you’d like, sir.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Hermione piped up, sounding embarrassed. “We’d like to eat in here with you all, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course, of course!” Maybe-Blitzy agreed, snapping her fingers. Instantly, a small round table with two spots set appeared, and with another snap of her fingers, the plates were filled with some food.

“What can we gets yous to drink?” she asked, dropping into a bow. “We has anything you could possibly want; cider, juice, butterbeer, firewhisky…”

Harry raised his eyebrows in interest. Of the things the house elf was still listing, only a select few were actually offered to the students. It made him wonder if the spirits were saved specifically for the teachers, or if there were some other reason the house elves had a stash in their kitchen.

“Is Winky drinking again?” Hermione asked worriedly. She’d caught on to the same thing Harry had, but was thinking more along the lines of which elf the stash was for, rather than which student had convinced the elves to smuggle and hide it.

“She is not, missus,” Maybe-Blitzy replied promptly, nodding fervently.

“Okay…” Hermione said slowly. “Then wha-”

“The food looks great!” Harry interrupted. “Thank you, all of you. Your services aren’t needed at the moment.”

“Call if you need us sir,” Maybe-Blitzy told them, sounding put out. She and the other elf got back to whatever task they had been doing before, and Harry couldn’t help but sigh in relief once they were gone.

“Harry, I needed to know why the elves have a stash of alcohol down here,” Hermione berated quietly as they took their seats.

“You’re not the only prefect in this school,” Harry reminded her, digging into his food. “You can let the others know, or maybe a teacher, but maybe you should let someone else take this one, yeah?”

“It might be too late by then, though,” she protested, reluctantly following suit and tucking in to the cottage pie the elves had served for them. “It’s one of my responsibilities to report things like this, before something goes terribly wrong.”

“There’s a quidditch game coming up next weekend,” Harry pointed out. “Chances are, someone took the time to stock up on the last Hogsmeade weekend, and they’re planning on using it then. Keep an ear out, and you can put a stop to things when something actually happens with it. Until then, I wouldn’t be so worried about it.”

“Alright,” Hermione agreed hesitantly. “I suppose you’re right…” They ate in silence for a few minutes before Hermione spoke up again, her voice quiet in the commotion of the kitchens.

“Harry, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with me, do you?”

“Of course not,” he said instantly, pausing to frown at her. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… I don’t get what he sees in her,” she went on, taking  his response as a cue to go on. “There’s nothing special about her at all, but he acts as if she’s the only girl he’s ever laid his eyes on.”

Oh. They were talking about Ron and Lavender.

“Er-” Harry cleared his throat and set his fork down on his plate, taking a moment to think over what he was going to say. “It’s…complicated, love is. That is to say, I don’t think he _loves_ her by any means, but I do think he’s crushing on her. He’d crush on anything that has lips and would snog him. It’s just typical.”

“Well yes, but _you_ aren’t like that,” Hermione returned evenly. “I know you’ve been eyeing Ginny, but that hasn’t turned you into anything like the utter git Ron’s become.”

“I-” Harry stuttered, his cheeks flushing at the mere notion that he liked the youngest Weasley. “I haven’t been _eyeing_ her,” he managed to say.

“Well, maybe not, but it’s still obvious to everyone that you’ve both been dancing around each other for months,” Hermione said. “I don’t see why you don’t just ask her out and be done with it.”

“It’s… complicated,” Harry said, his cheeks burning.

Hermione snorted. “Please don’t ever try to make that excuse again Harry,” she said. _“Complicated_ is hardly a reason.”

“Look at it this way, then,” Harry said. “I have a madman dark lord intent on killing me, and I don’t want to risk anything happening to her if we _did_ start dating. Plus, I’m a fair bit busier these days.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Hermione agreed after a moment. “But there isn’t anything Voldemort can do to you while we’re in school Harry, and we still have one more year to go.” He didn’t say anything to that at first, and when it became evident that he probably _wouldn’t,_ Hermione sat up a little straighter in her seat.

“Harry? We _do_ have one more year, right?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure about that, actually,” he mumbled. “You said it yourself earlier, there might be five of To- Voldemort’s horcruxes out there, and we have no idea where to begin looking. On top of that, it looks like the war isn’t going to wait for us to finish school, Hermione. It would be foolish to think that it would otherwise.”

“So that’s it, then?” she asked. “We’re really not going to come back next year?”

“I don’t know about _we-”_

“I’m coming with you,” Hermione said fiercely, leaving little room for argument. “Do you really think for a second that I’m going to safely stay here in the castle, knowing that you’re out there and risking your life trying to find these things?”

“I can’t ask you to just come with either,” Harry protested.

Hermione gave him a bright smile. “And that’s why I’m telling you. You don’t need to do this alone, Harry. I don’t know what Ron’s going to be doing, but I’ll follow you wherever you decide to go.”[1]

“I’m telling you, it’ll likely be dangerous,” Harry said. “Voldemort could have hidden his horcruxes anywhere in the world, and there’s no telling what enchantments he placed around them for protection.”

“I know,” Hermione said simply. “But you’ve been with me through thick and thin these past six years, Harry. Who would I be, to abandon you when you’re going to need it most?”

Harry swallowed and looked down at his plate, finding it suddenly difficult to speak. A multitude of different emotions rushed through him then, too many for him to possibly be able to sort through in the moment. Once or twice, he thought he might have come up with something to respond with, but every time he opened his mouth to articulate it, he froze up.

So rather than say anything for the time being, he picked up his fork and continued his lunch. To his credit, Hermione seemed more than happy to do the same. There was no need for idle chatter to fill the space of their silence, a fact that Harry had never really noticed or appreciated before. Around them, the house elves still went about their day to day lives, yet somehow Harry had forgotten that they were even around until they had finished their food and Maybe-Blitzy appeared out of nowhere.

“Did yous find the food to your liking?” she asked eagerly, vanishing their empty plates with a snap of her fingers. “Would yous like anything to take with you?”

“The food was very good,” Hermione assured. “We have to head to another class next unfortunately, so we can’t take anything with us.”

Maybe-Blitzy nodded, her expression only dropping the tiniest bit. “We thank yous for coming to see us,” she said, dropping into a low bow. “Dobby asked me to pass along the message that yous must visit more, Harry Potter, sir.”

“Oh, er- if I can,” Harry said hastily, feeling a little guilty. “Lots of work to be done, you know.”

She probably _didn’t_ know, but maybe-Blitzy nodded again anyway. “Of course!” she replied, and that was the end of that.

“Thank you for having lunch with me, Harry,” Hermione told him as they stepped out of the portrait hole together. “You really didn’t need to.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” Harry replied honestly. “It’s been nice, spending time with you today. I can’t remember the last time we did something like this.”

“It’s been a while,” Hermione agreed. “Have you made any progress on the wordless charms Professor Flitwick told us to practice?” she asked then,changing the subject once more.

“Not a whole lot,” Harry said. “I don’t see how you’re getting this so easily, honestly.”

“It’s simpler than you’re making it out to be, I think,” she began slowly. “When I think of doing nonverbal magic, I have to mentally suspend all logic in order to get it to work. I think it might have been easier on all of us if we’d been taught nonverbal magic to begin with; it’s always easier to learn new concepts the younger you are, of course, because it’s a lot easier to suspend the disbelief. Does that make sense?”

There was a long moment in which she stared at him hopefully while he tried to wrap his mind around all the information she’d just given him.

“You lost me,” he finally admitted with a laugh. “Explain that again?”

Hermione laughed too. “If it helps, I try to think of it like this- six years ago, magic didn’t exist for all I knew, so it’s easy to believe that anything can happen now that I know better. Making something happen without saying a thing? Easier than you think, it just takes a balanced amount of willpower and concentration.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly. “So I need to focus more?” _Funny, that,_ he thought, resisting the urge to grin. _That’s almost exactly what Tom told me the last time he tried helping me with it. What would Hermione think, if she were allowed to know?_

“In a way, you need to be able to visualize it happening without doing anything,” Hermione elaborated. “But yes, focus is key. If you’re not busy later, I can probably try to help you out with it some more.”

By then, they had reached the charms classroom with a few minutes to spare, and they paused just before the doorway.

This time, Harry allowed himself to smile. “I’d like that,” he agreed, then hesitated. “And Hermione?

“Thank you.”

From the way she smiled back at him, he knew she’d caught the second meaning he’d put into the words.

 

 

“Alright teams, square up!” Cassius called from the middle of the quidditch pitch. He stared sightlessly up at where the two ragtag teams were hovering on their brooms and even from where Harry was, he could still see a small smirk curling on the fifth year’s lips. He’d amplified his voice with _Sonarus_ and reassured everyone beforehand that they’d be disqualified if they tried to claim that they weren’t able to hear a comment or direction.

“Now, I want a nice, clean game from everyone,” Cassius instructed. “Normal quidditch rules apply here, and as I’ve told you before, it doesn’t _matter_ that I’m blind, I’ll still know what’s up.”

“Don’t forget, he has his eyes in the sky,” Orion Black, a third year and the future father to Sirius, said smugly. “So anything _you_ do, _he’s_ going to know about.”

While Orion and Cassius proceeded to trade jibes back and forth in between discussing the terms of the game, Harry wondered how exactly it was going to work that they had two referees instead of the usual one. Cassius was the _official_ ref, as he’d made clear, but how was that supposed to work, if he was blind?

_Another mystery to him that I’ll need to figure out,_ Harry surmised. _I really need to remember to look him up in the future-present._

Another few minutes passed before the game was finally ready to begin, and the moment each team broke from their formation, Harry rose up to fly higher than the others were. That had always been his prime strategy when it came to quidditch- stay out of the way of the others, and find the snitch as quickly as possible.

Mulciber, the other team’s seeker, seemed to have a different strategy that he was playing out. Unlike Harry, he was in the thick of the action, ducking and weaving around the other fliers and bludgers with the grace of a skilled flier.

_His flying is really good, for only being the team’s reserve seeker,_ Harry observed, his attention caught halfway between watching the action below and scanning the pitch for any sign of the snitch. There was none, so far, but he’d expected that.

As Harry leisurely flew around the pitch, he marveled at how different the Cleansweep Three he’d borrowed from the school’s broom shed was from his Firebolt back at home. It didn’t fly quite as smoothly, and was definitely a touch more finicky than the Firebolt. Briefly, he wondered if it might have been a better idea to nab one of the Comets instead.

Aside from even just being different to handle, the broom was so _slow._ Looking down at the different Comets and Cleansweeps scattered across the field, Harry could see that his broom was going about as fast as the others, but it was still so different from his Firebolt and his old Nimbus that he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to keep up.

Sweeping his gaze over the pitch, though, he felt like he couldn’t care less about that. This wasn’t an official game, and if he lost, it wouldn’t be quite as big of a deal as it would be if he was in the future-present.

In the grand scheme of things, Quidditch really wasn’t everything, Harry was beginning to realize. It made for a nice distraction, but at the end of the day, everything came rushing back to him. There was still a war to prepare for, still a mission to complete- not that he had the faintest inkling of how he was going to do that.

“Find anything yet, Peverell?” A low voice inquired from behind Harry. He started, and turned to find Orion hovering next to him, looking at ease on his Comet 180.

“You’ve been keeping your distance,” Orion went on, fixing him with a steely gaze. “Cassius was beginning to worry that you really _didn’t_ know how to play.”

“I know how to play,” Harry defended indignantly. “I just find that it’s better to keep an eye out for the snitch from further back. It gives me a larger range of sight. How’d you know that anyway?”

Orion ignored the question. “I have my doubts that a better vantage point would really benefit you,” he said. “If Nathaniel happens to see the snitch first, you’d never be able to catch up. And unless you’ve charmed your glasses, the snitch is too small to spot from so far up.” Now, his expression turned more suspicious. “You _didn’t_ charm your glasses, did you? That’s grounds for disqualification and Abraxas would have your head for it.”

“Abraxas can very well bugger off,” Harry muttered, his mood souring at the reminder of why he needed to win the match for his team. He wasn’t necessarily a _proud_ person, by any means, but Malfoy had really rubbed him the wrong way when he’d insulted Harry the day before.

Without waiting for any kind of response from Orion, he urged his broom into a small dive, pushing himself headfirst into the thick of the action and just barely avoiding a bludger in the process.

“Watch yourself, Peverell!” Nott warned as he flew by, quaffle in his hands. It was gone a moment later, passed to Malfoy, who streaked toward where Dolohov was ready to defend his team’s goalposts. Without fail, Abraxas scored.

“Walburga’s team is in the lead, 70-50,” Cassius announced, his voice echoing around the pitch. Shortly after calling for the match to begin, he’d retreated to the announcer’s box in the stand, looking entirely undisturbed that he couldn’t actually see what was going on. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how he was refereeing with a lack of vision.

Wondering would have to wait for later, though, Harry thought resolutely as he sharply turned his broom and took off. He’d caught a glimpse of the snitch out of the corner of his eyes, and to his luck, it seemed that Mulciber hadn’t yet.

If there was one thing Harry could be grateful for with this mission, it was the opportunity to play alongside the Slytherins of the past. They played fast and rough, and he had to pull some fast moves to avoid colliding with another player or bludger. Harry could learn from their style, though, and find a way to incorporate it into the way his own team flew in the future-present.

“Peverell’s seen the snitch!” came Cassius’ cheerful voice. “Although, he’s going to have to move quickly if he doesn’t want it to slip out of his grasp.”

Harry allowed the sounds of the game going on around him to wash away as he moved his broom into a dive. He was beginning to gain on the snitch now and could see it clearly ahead of him, its small wings fluttering in an almost mocking fashion.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Mulciber appeared and blocked his way, forcing Harry to either pull up out of the dive or risk a collision. By the time Harry managed to regain his sense of surrounding, the snitch was gone and Mulciber was leering at him tauntingly.

“Don’t think this match is going to be an easy win for you Peverell,” he said smugly and flew off, leaving Harry to dazedly wonder why he hadn’t just gone for the snitch himself.

Shaking off the more than strange encounter, Harry put his focus back onto the task ahead of him, rather than trying to figure out the reasoning behind Mulciber’s actions. The more he tried to let it go, though, the more he thought about it.

Why _had_ Mulciber not gone after the snitch himself? Doing so would have secured an easy win for his team at the very least, and ended the match for him on a high note.

In the time Harry had spent going after the small, elusive ball, Dolohov’s team had pulled ahead by a good thirty points, and it was obvious that they were in this match to win- no matter what it took.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed his own teammates were just as determined, if not more so.

“Peverell, keep on Mulciber’s trail,” Walburga commanded sharply as she narrowly stopped the opposing team from scoring and sent the quaffle careening back out into the pitch- Alphard caught it, and he ducked and weaved around the other players, passing it off to Lucian not a minute later.

Rather than argue that following Mulciber would be a waste of his time, Harry hastened to follow her instruction. Avoiding bludgers as they came his way, he dogged Mulciber, keeping far enough behind the other seeker that he’d have enough time to react should Mulciber pull any tricks.

The idea came to his mind to attempt a Wronski Feint himself, but he decided against it. He was far too used to the superior speed of the Firebolt that he’d likely only injure himself in the attempt, and there was no guarantee that Mulciber would fall for the trick.

As Mulciber flew seemingly aimlessly around the quidditch pitch and Harry followed, he kept an eye on the game around them. Both teams were doing fairly well by that point, and with Lucian, Abraxas, and Alphard seeming to function as one unit, his team had managed to take the lead once more. It seemed that both sets of beaters were trying to avoid aiming the bludgers at either seeker, for fear of hitting the wrong one.

It was whatever, Harry decided, branching off and making his own path once more. Mulciber had caught on to Harry’s plan and had been attempting to distract him, because the moment Harry broke away, his own course changed drastically too.  His movements were more focused now, and Harry could see how determined he was to get to the snitch, even from as far away as he was.

_That just means I’ll have to beat him to it first,_ Harry thought, deciding to go back to his usual strategy and flying upward with a renewed sense of purpose. As he scanned his gaze over the quidditch pitch, he made sure to keep a careful eye out on where Mulciber was and what he was doing at all times. The rest of the players were ignored, as were the occasional comments and warnings from Cassius Rosier.

Fortunately, Harry didn’t have to wait very long for the snitch to make another appearance. A small glint of light shone in his eyes for just a second, but it was enough for Harry to pinpoint the snitch’s location. He took his broom into a steady dive, avoiding knocking into Avery by barely a few inches.

“Sorry,” he called back hastily, not taking his eyes off of his destination.

In those moments, he blocked everything out. Gone were the sounds of the match around him, the feel of the wind against his face and adrenaline in his veins. Gone were all thoughts of _how_ and _why,_ replaced only by an overwhelming need to _go faster, beat Mulciber, prove yourself, fasterfasterfaster._

Harry didn’t need to look behind him to know that Mulciber was there; he could almost feel the other seeker’s breath on the back of his neck, the disturbance in the air from where two brooms cut a path instead of one.

The snitch chose then to begin moving from its spot, going downward toward the ground, dancing just out of Harry’s and Mulciber’s reach. Harry followed it without a moment’s hesitation, not caring at that point if he ended up sprawled on the ground.

Nothing mattered but winning.

He stretched his hand out as far as it could go and urged his broom onward, not stopping for a moment, even when a sickening crack of metal on wood and an ensuing scream could be heard.

His heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Harry leaned forward on his broom. He was all too aware of the ground steadily rushing up to meet him, was all too aware that even one wrong move could make him lose what little balance he had left and send him plummeting down to ground, much like Mulciber had gone down just moments before.

His fingers wrapped around the small golden ball and Harry quickly moved to level his broom, remembering too late that he _wasn’t_ on his Firebolt anymore and that the brooms of the past weren’t nearly as good for last-minute tricks.

Deciding that nothing would be worse than crashing into the ground headfirst, Harry weighed his chances and jumped from his broom, tucking his body into a roll so his legs wouldn’t be forced to bear the brunt of the landing.

When at last his body came to a stop, he held up his right hand and let out a triumphant yell, slowly moving up to stand and wincing every time his muscles screamed in protest. Jumping off his broom had _not_ been kind to his body, and he was probably going to feel the full impact when he woke up the next morning.

“And Hadrian has caught the snitch!” Cassius announced, sounding pleased. “Even though it took a dirty shot from Lestrange that resulted in Mulciber getting knocked out of the match, Walburga’s team has won, 320-140.”

The other players land slowly, Dolohov’s team looking rather put out that they had lost. Greeting Harry with a wide smile, Avery was the only exception.

“That was a _brilliant_ play!” he gushed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “You have _got_ to play for the team next year!”

“Thanks.” Harry winced as pain shot through his entire body, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hadrian, do you need to go see the healer?” Lucian asked, walking over to them from where the rest of Walburga’s team was happily celebrating. “I’m sure Tom would understand if we’re late to the party.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry said, waving off the concern. He looked around the field, frowning at the lack of worry from everyone else. “Where did Mulciber go? I heard a bludger hit his broom.”

“Orion took him to the hospital wing, didn’t you hear?” Lucian asked. “Cassius was yelling at Montgomery and Nancy just a minute ago, saying that _this_ is why there should be two referees for matches.”

“To be fair, most refs aren’t blind though,” Harry pointed out, wincing as another jolt of pain went through him.

Lucian was eyeing him worriedly, while Ben was more than happy to go on about the plays of the game, highlighting both the good and the bad. “Hadrian, are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital wing?” he pressed. “If not, then we should at least get you to the showers. The hot water would do you good.”

“A shower sounds nice,” Harry agreed, and together the trio made their way off of the pitch, ignoring the celebrations and arguments that had broken out going on behind them.

Harry showered slowly, enjoying the way the ever-hot water cascading over his skin soothed his more than sore muscles. Once he was feeling much more relaxed and not quite as sore, he set about washing off all the dirt and sweat that had accumulated during the match.

Once his shower was finished, Harry made his way back into the castle by himself- sometime while he’d been freshening up, Ben and Lucian must have abandoned him. The thought was a little off-putting, considering that they’d become friends to him. He supposed that he couldn’t just expect them to wait around for him forever, though, so there weren’t any hard feelings over it.

Harry got to the common room, only to find that it was nearly empty and devoid of any of Tom’s inner circle, save for Walburga Black, who seemed to be waiting for him.

“Hadrian Peverell,” she greeted, standing when she saw him. “I would like to congratulate you on your flying this afternoon. You have the makings of a great seeker.”

“Thank you,” Harry mumbled, unsure of how to handle being complimented by the woman who would one day be nothing more than an enraged, screaming portrait on a wall. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re getting ready,” she replied dismissively. “Have you thought about trying out for the House team next year? I know it’ll be NEWT year and that’s stressful, but there will be recruiters at matches, looking for talent. It could be your chance to make it big.”

“I’ve given it some thought,” Harry said, because technically that was true. He certainly wasn’t planning on trying out for the _Slytherin_ team, but he was nearly looking forward to the prospect of being accepted into a professional quidditch team.

“Good!” Walburga beamed at him. “You’ll be an invaluable asset to the team, I feel.”

“Hang on.” Harry thought for a long moment, mentally doing calculations. “Aren’t you a seventh year now? Why does it matter?”

Walburga’s expression changed from being warm to almost scathing in a moment. “It’s still important to secure the future of my House team,” she said indignantly. “And I care about the success of my housemates too. Is that such a bad thing?”

“No,” Harry answered quickly, bewildered at the fact that she’d gotten riled up so easily. “Absolutely not.”

Walburga sniffed. “I should think not,” she said, and pointedly looked him over once. “If I were you, I’d change into something better. Tom doesn’t appreciate it when people don’t put more effort into looking presentable. Your hair especially is horrendous.” With that she stalked off, presumably to join the others, wherever they were.

Harry sighed, pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck and sniffing. Walburga had a small point, as loath as he was to admit it. He didn’t have any quidditch robes to wear, and so he’d just worn (and subsequently destroyed) whatever he’d worn for the day. Looking back, it had seemed rather pointless to just change back into his ruined clothing, but he hadn’t brought anything else to wear.

There was nothing left for him to do but freshen up once more, he mused, retreating to the dorm. He made quick work of applying a few freshening charms and changing into a nicer set of robes for the occasion that the night was supposedly going to be.

There wasn’t too much time left before the party was set to begin, Harry figured, since everyone else was already gone.

He bit his lip as he contemplated his choices. He could try going to the Chamber of Secrets to see if perhaps his suspicions were correct, but that carried the risk of him not having a way back out again if he was wrong. And if he were right… he wasn’t sure that he liked the idea of what consequences would be brought onto him for ‘knowing too much’ or some other bullocks like that.

So instead of doing anything, Harry opted to just wait in the common room. He took a seat on one of the armchairs by the fire and watched as students occasionally came in and out of the common room, some going to dinner and some headed to their rooms. None ever stopped to chat with him, though, and Harry found that he was okay with it.

Even that grew boring after a time though, and before long, Harry found himself reading the various notices and advertisements on the bulletin board in an attempt to make the time pass. His eyes passed once over the apparition lessons announcement once before he did a double take and looked at the flyer again. It hadn’t been there the day before, he was pretty sure of that, and it differed from the one that had been posted in the future-present.

**APPARITION LESSONS**

**If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve session course of Apparition lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Lessons will begin on Wednesday, 10th February at 19:00 and be held the four following weeks on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Cost: 12 Galleons.**

For a few minutes, Harry stared at the sign and wondered if his classmates would think it weird if he chose not to attend. He’d already signed up to take lessons in the future-present, but he couldn’t think of a reason that _Hadrian_ wouldn’t try to learn to apparate. Supposedly homeschooled abroad or not, there wasn’t likely to be an excuse he could come up with the wouldn’t make his peers suspicious.

Resolving to figure it out at a later time, Harry retreated back to his armchair to wait for whoever was supposed to collect him for the ‘party’ Tom had planned.

Thankfully, not much more time had passed before Harry was finally approached by none other than Cassius Rosier himself, who was so silent that he would have gone unnoticed entirely had he not spoken.

“Hadrian, it is nearly time for your party to begin,” Cassius said, reaching out and tapping him on the arm with a few fingers.

“Alright,” he responded neutrally, shifting his arm to acknowledge the gentle taps. Cassius took a step back and Harry stood, stretching slowly. His muscles _ached,_ and the thought came to mind that perhaps he would take up that offer for a pain potion after all. “So, can you tell me where it is yet, or is that still a surprise?” he asked, clearing the thought from his mind as they walked toward the exit.

“Still a surprise,” Cassius hummed, placing his hand against the blank wall. A moment passed, and then the bricks began shifting away, revealing the small, narrow alcove that hid the dungeon. “You wanted to speak with me,” he continued quietly as they made their way out of the common room. “I extend my apologies that we haven’t conversed sooner.”

“I-er. How exactly did you know that?” Harry asked, glancing briefly at the fifth year beside him.

“Oh, I’m a seer,” Cassius replied casually, his lips quirking upward into a small grin. “Didn’t you know? Divination’s my best subject, and I have a good sense of premonition outside of my visions. For example: you are not who you say you are, Hadrian Peverell.”

Harry’s breath caught for a moment. “H- how much do you know?” he stuttered weakly. “Why haven’t you told Tom?”

“Who’s to say I haven’t?” Cassius returned nonchalantly. “For all you know, we’re just biding our time, trying to figure you out before we make our final move.”

Harry had already thought the same thing probably about a million times by that point, but he wasn’t about to voice the thought, leaving them to fall into an uneasy silence. To his surprise, rather than heading for the girl’s bathroom on the second floor, they went up.

“I am loyal to my lord,” Cassius began abruptly, switching the subject. “If there is one thing you must understand, it is that I would die for him. I _will_ die for him.”

Harry nodded in understanding, although he was confused as to why Cassius was telling him that. “Okay,” he murmured. “So?”

_“So,”_ Cassius said, striding a little ahead of Harry, then stopping and turning to look him straight in the eye, “I believe you could be good for him. You work toward a noble goal.”

“There’s nothing noble about it,” Harry argued mildly. “I’m just doing what I have to.”

“You are working for his best interests, in wishing to prevent him from becoming a dark lord,” Cassius explained, gesturing a little. “I would like to see that you become a friend to him, an advisor.”

“Aren’t you that already though?” Harry asked, feeling a little helpless. “I mean, you seem to be the person he trusts the most, and you’re a seer. Wouldn’t he listen to you?”

“You intrigue him,” Cassius replied, his lips curling in amusement. His smile was just as unnerving as his stare, but somehow Harry found that he couldn’t look away.  “You are something new, whoever you really are, and it has been some time since a person has consumed Tom’s thoughts. I believe that he will work best with you by his side.”

“I don’t want that, though,” Harry said immediately, his tone echoing sharply throughout the empty corridor. “I will _never_ join Tom, _or_ his cause.”

Cassius’ gaze grew cold. “I wasn’t asking you to,” he chided quietly. “I am telling you to become close to him, to succeed in your goal. Or was I _wrong_ to assume you were capable?”

“I…” Harry found himself at a loss for words when faced with Cassius’ challenge, if it could be considered that. He thought he might have finally started getting used to the cryptic and sometimes odd way the fifth year spoke, but perhaps not. “So, what?” he asked, feeling helpless.

Cassius sighed harshly. “Don’t let Tom’s future come to pass,” he said shortly, his tone dismissive. “I could care less about my own; I gave you my perspective. That’s it.” He whipped around and continued on to the next staircase briskly, clearly not in the mood to discuss anything with Harry anymore.

It was when they were advancing from the sixth floor to the seventh that Harry finally realized where they were headed, and he felt like an idiot when he finally did. After all, despite beginning from across the castle, how many times had he taken almost the exact same route to get to the Room of Requirement by that point?

(The answer was more than he could ever count. Between the DA the previous year and the Room providing him a safe, solitary place to settle in between time shifts, Harry could probably walk it in his sleep.)

Cassius held up a hand when they reached the point of the corridor that granted access to the Room, and began pacing back and forth in front of the door without a single word to Harry. A gaudy, ornate door formed in the wall after Cassius's third turn, and he stopped in front of it with an oddly satisfied expression on his face.

"After me," he murmured smugly, stepping forward and pulling the door open.

Classical music played over a record system that had been fashioned to work despite technology's aversion to magic, and the first thing Harry saw as he stepped in was the table. Tom had made it the centerpiece of the room, and by extension, himself. He sat in a dramatic throne-like chair at the head of the table, his followers all circled around him with the exception of two seats. They were talking quietly amongst themselves for the most part, save for Lucian and Ben, who sat close to Tom themselves. As Harry and Cassius entered, the other followers fell silent.

"You will sit on Tom's right," Cassius told Harry quietly, and the pressed meaning behind his words didn't escape his attention. _You are to be his right hand man,_ he was saying, without having to voice the words at all.

And who would Harry be to refuse?

"Welcome Hadrian," Tom greeted as they approached the table, his voice sounding amplified in the near-silence of the room. "I'm glad you could make it."

"It would be rude to not show up to my own party," Harry said, his tone a lot more cheerful than he was actually feeling. He took his seat on Tom's right and looked around, forcing an excited and intrigued expression onto his face. "What _is_ this place? It's incredible!"

"This is just one of the many secrets of Hogwarts," Tom began, a fond expression overtaking his features. "Very few know about this place, and the few that do call it the Come and Go room. I fashioned it a much more fitting name, of course. This is the Room of Requirement, Hadrian. Bar a few exceptions, this room will provide its seeker with whatever they could possibly need. It won't grant food or drink, but then, that's what house elves are for."

"Of course," Harry said. "Do you plan on making this room public knowledge, then?"

"No," Tom replied silkily. "If the secret of this place were to get out, it would no longer be accessible to very many when they truly need it."

"Makes sense," Harry murmured, looking down at the table in a show of submission.

“Make it here okay?” Ben asked him then, leaning forward and resting his chin on a propped hand. “I hope Cassius didn’t run you off too badly?”

“The walk here was fine,” Harry dismissed, giving Avery a smile. “I don’t scare easily.”

“There were bets,” Lucian piped up. “I didn’t partake, but a few others did. Ben is one of the few who bet that you wouldn’t back out of this.”

“Why would I back out, though?” Harry asked, feigning intrigue. He had an inkling of why _anyone_ would want to avoid anything Tom put together in their ‘honor’, but surely that was a thing Voldemort did more in the future-present?

“None of them were sure what information I would choose to divulge to you,” Cassius said, focusing his attention on Harry.  “If I chose to tell you anything, of course. But, then, we’ve already discussed this, have we not?” He smiled sweetly, the action looking menacing when coupled with his knowing stare.

“Right,” Harry agreed, unsure of whether or not what was even the right thing to say.

“Ah.” Cassius sat up straighter, and turned his focus to the table, which had been completely empty so far. “Dinner is served.”

Not a moment passed before plates of food appeared on the table, one for each person. They were already made, Harry noticed as he pulled his closer to look at it. It seemed that Tom had decided on a menu beforehand and given the order to the elves, vetoing the option of choice. Tom had picked roast lamb for dinner, accompanied with potatoes, herb pudding, and a flute of what looked like red wine.

Harry almost wanted to laugh at how absurd it all was, that Tom would ensure a formal, rich dinner, just to impress him. He didn’t though, knowing that it would be seen as a great offense.

“The food looks amazing,” he said instead, glancing over at Tom. “Did you plan this all on your own?”

“Abraxas helped,” Tom said, not sounding bothered at all about having to share the credit with someone else. “He has had many more opportunities for fine dining than I have, and so his suggestions were invaluable.”

“Ah,” was all Harry replied with, as he glanced down the table to where Malfoy Sr. was sitting beside Lucian and Mulciber. “He… picked well.”

Abraxas raised an eyebrow at the compliment and made a small noise of indignation, tuning away from Harry to begin a hushed conversation with Mulciber. Harry could faintly make out the words ‘quidditch’ and ‘bludger’, and he assumed that Malfoy wasn’t as over his hatred of Harry as he might have hoped.

A few minutes passed in which Harry silently observed the others. Even if there was some animosity, everyone seemed at ease with one another, Tom Riddle included.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere, though, Harry couldn’t help but feel a little bored. He’d never been one much for dinner parties, and even though these people had been his peers for a few weeks by then, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say to any of them. So instead, he was content to watch.

“If I could have your attention.” Tom spoke quietly, but authoritatively, and it was obvious that his request for silence was more of an order. “Before we dig into the food, I would like to say a few words on the behalf of our new friend here.” He picked up his wine glass, and as if it were a cue, the others did too.

“To Hadrian,” Tom proposed, looking over at Harry. A small smirk curled on his lips, and his eyes were impossibly dark and alluring as they bored into Harry’s own, captivating him. “May your time here at Hogwarts prove to be… _enlightening.”_

Despite the chill that ran down Harry’s spine, the way his breath caught in his throat as his eyes met Tom’s, he couldn’t help but feel an odd warmth in his chest. The toast was meant to signify _more,_ was meant to be Tom’s acceptance to the challenge Harry had posed what seemed like forever ago in the library, and the the thought of fighting a different sort of battle with the dark lord to-be thrilled him.

Because in that moment, even though Tom’s expression didn’t waver for a single second, Harry could see past the facade for what it really was, could see something _more_ beyond the self-important smirk he wore.

It was something real.


End file.
